though time be thin
as paper cuts

where no blood waves
lap over skin –

nimbus horses
still drive our dreams

hidden on the
starry black shore.

there is a love
in this world still

on a trampled
receipt that makes

bodies shiver
with ecstasy.

Share: 
Share on Facebook
Share on Twitter
Share on Reddit
Pin It
Embed

About Christopher Bryn Viner


Follow
1 0
Living and working in London. Editor for a publishing house by day, writer/ reader/ art seeker by night; and an editor of a quarterly literary zine, You Stumble into a Room Full of Poets, by season. Interested in art that communicates something new - usually an idea - not necessarily cohesively; and in fact...read more better if it does so in a surprising and original way.
0 comments
Discussion
There are no comments yet...

People who liked this also liked

Some Kind Of Gift

Poem of the Week

Who Is Heat?

Story of the Week

BOMB

Poem of the Week

Who Is Heat?

Story of the Week

BOMB