zafusy

“…This love is
not some experimental station
we use only to look into ourselves.” Andy Brown

The moon is in her hurry. Not fourteen days
to go, and you’re worried she has starved herself to a sliver
of anticipation.

Nights draw in, don’t yet taste of snow. It’s OK,
I say, she’ll be back. With my pumpkin face. Light
at the eyes.

Sophie Mayer

View all poems by Sophie Mayer