The Middle Line

i long for One without form

and press my palms

sans the touch of yours

for comfort born beyond time

in the breaching of the lines

as all i bear

you share

at the apex of our heart

.

maiden-mother mourned

with desire transformed

through a billion scattered mouths

i kiss and bind

and she spoke of a bridge

before she bloomed into light

breathing, “write, my daughter – write”

.

© M.G. Iannucci 2018

Art by Stanka Kordic

18 thoughts on “The Middle Line

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