The bones of it

The bones of it

The pitch black sky
           studded with stars
           dropping away
as a thick frost
on the grass
           on the parked cars
on the dead
           autumn leaves

tiny pinpricks
           of light create
a map of sorts
           I feel the cold
in my bones
           and a sense
of being lost
           in the immensity
of space
           through the universe

love alone I know
           will keep me warm
her arms her kiss
           my poetry driven
by the desire
           to immerse myself
in her flesh
           such is my life
these words
           are the bones of it

John Lyons



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