Taste

A poem of a lost love, and the ghosts she left.

Taste

Tasting the mist still
The bleak of that place
Sits like mercury in my veins
Tasting the kiss still
A perfume that haunts my senses
This bold move,
A pale worm moon, I ran like the wareyn
Tasting the blood still
The barbed wire love
The blackthorn under my skin
Your boasts of your kin
Killing my friends in the field
Laughter at languishing wing beats
I watched, a prisoner of ditches
Tasting the mud,
Still
Tasting the blood