Sensual curves gleam in the light.
They fill my sight
with your soft glow
and yet ... I go.
Your beauty rides upon your skin.
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
with drying tears.
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
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