The cut of this parting
Saps to my heartwood,
Spills my insides
It aches of hope
Chop wound
Our ravelling stopped too soon
The ax of circumstance.
I cry at the apple core
You would have eaten,
At the moon you love,
And how many moons
Until…
This sunrise smells of you,
A coin of blood on my shirt
I will never wash off,
I want you weaved around me
Woven into me.
A whole bar of salted caramel
Sweetens my tears,
But cannot stop them
Each one a prayer for you
Napoleon’s dying word
Was the name
Of the woman he loved.
Joe Blogs, 2024