Crux

Crux



Sensual curves gleam in the light.
They fill my sight
with your soft glow
and yet ... I go.

Your beauty rides upon your skin.
Nothing's within.
You're carved from ice.
It won't suffice.

With bags in hand, I close the door.
I need much more.
I won't enshrine
your cold design.

I turn from you to dark's embrace.
My only trace
soon disappears
with drying tears.


Notes
Written for January 8 in a "A Poem A Day Contest"  [E]
Form: Minute Poetry is a poem of 4-line stanzas with a rhyme pattern of aabb. The syllable counts for each line are: 8, 4, 4, 4 – and that is repeated for each stanza. The meter here is iambic, meaning that the poem has a pattern of unstressed and stressed syllables.

crux - something that torments by its puzzling nature

Thank you for taking time to read my words. I would appreciate it if you took a moment and left a comment. Your reaction, impressions, criticisms, - yes, even praise - are all equally welcome.