Living Once

This red blood,
is my memory of you.
This red blood between my fingers,
wreath in my skull,
where smoke patterns crease,
till the noise ceases.
Hunting below,
the seas orgasmic purity,
masses of water flexure,
triggering motions in disparity,
having everlasting will in tow,
of expendable expanses.

poem by Kristian Cura
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!