Nur-Viktoria Ellen Frings

A Slice Of The Moon

When asked about our future plans,
he smiles, and grants, with every row of perfect teeth,
a sliver of the moon: pearls at my feet,
and for my eyes
the silvery persuasion of the sky, star-freckled
and remote. Reality
on his mellow tongue becomes
cloud-cushioned like a dream of poppy seed. Numb
to the pain of voices, calling me to come
to my senses
I am lulled and falling
to the tune of Morpheus. When I wake
I find myself foolishly deceived: Promises! In my empty hands
I search for fulfilment sliced
from the vagrant moon.

 

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Published on e-Stories.org on 02/16/2012.

 

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