gritting teeth in the pit
preparing to shovel dirt as if its a vocation
just wait for fingers that
tremble on your neck
the way the wind sleeks your hair
the marbles in your throat
the man who wouldnt recognize his own daughter
could hardly be expected to know who you are
her breasts amongst the stones
which complicates the shovelling
her breasts amongst the stones
the shadow of the old man falling into the trench
& out again
✅ Do you like the article “After Breughel – The Lovers” by Kris Hemensley on Poemfull.com? If so, don't forget to share this post with your friends and family ♡ !
