Poetry in April -- in celebration
|My prince talked to me in his full-moon voice
like a bee drowned in its own honey,
before the eclipse, before I lost a glass slipper,
before the midnight struck in a puff of wind.
And when the apparition emerged at high tide,
that dark side, smug, rolled words around
out of orbit, hard to know why, but
bit by bit, I shall build a launch pad to it
so I can capture the shadow,
the abandoned tomorrow, and confront the dream,
for, once, my prince talked to me in his full-moon voice
like a bee drowned in its own honey.
Prompt:A pressing deadline and a full moon (get both in the poem)