experimental,  poetry,  prose

the cauldron

the moon waits for me.
i become the terpsichorean,
naked, fragile, unclothed in darkness.
my hips are my cauldron.
i stir.
i stir for the babies not yet conceived.
i stir for love and longing.
i stir for survival.
i wait for the moon.
and it waits for me.
i stir.

pot-15020_1920-2016-04-30-11-34.jpg

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