-After Dark-
Silver country. Silver trees. Silver earth.
Our world is made metal by the light of a wrinkled face.
For many hours, our gravitas awaits;
she is overhead,
licking her lunar lips; but there, she said,
this salt - it has no taste; for it is a potion,
a mineral to be absorbed
among your people
I don't have much readership either, but I promise to read more than my fair share, for both our sake.
ReplyDeleteThis is wonderful, Tyler!