Cries of a Desolate Night
by Frank Watson
As in stream,
Your hair wraps around
The curves of your breasts
To touch the cream
Of a fruitful womb.

Your body curves
Around my skin,
Indenting the nerves
With iron pins
Of piercing nails.

We battle to death
As darkness wins over light
And footprints echo the breath
Of sleeping souls,
The cries of a desolate night.


All writings and translations are Copyright © by Frank Watson, also writing as "Blue Flute" (2011-2014).
Year: 
2013