Random (II)

Hormones

fluid—
the tile that leads home,
into your arms
the fate of a warrior lies
a warrior of me
soft, tender, black and musical.

do not leave
me waiting for too long
like the darkness after your name
is called, is harnessed in a tongue
like miyan karakashi na sáfë.
poems. poems. words;
a deep yearning that makes a gorge,
for these white tears to pass.
stained sheets with maps
buried lights in alcazar.

when shall we dig
enflicka?

Ruddapoet