‘Mothiavelli’ and Other Poetry by Susan Jarvis Bryant
Mothiavelli I’m thirsty for the fever of her kiss--- The neon sear---the lethal lick she brings. I burn to ...
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tin basin at night moonlight quivers on the wash hands wait in the dark ~~~ soft belly of spring gold-threaded…
Joe is right. As it stands, the sentence is run-on.
Exquisite diction, superb control of meter, and a resonant theme. Who could ask for more?
Well James, how about "No degree," "Go with me." "Though it be," "Sow a pea," or, best of all, "Gaucherie."
Enjoyed this one and looking forward to reading even more content JG!
