On Being Late

by Jessica Calandra Shoup
(Ohio, USA)

Lion at her door.
She discards pale light
that licks the far wall;
whets the stale scent
of sour sentiment.

Serpent cast offshore.
Silence-scrambled cad,
sallowed, might recall
one mouth-mauled paw
from dark's daggergnaw.

Click here to post comments

Join in and write your own page! It's easy to do. How? Simply click here to return to Submit a Poem.

   



Search Here for Poetry



Click here if you love us! Follow Me on Pinterest