Fullmooned headstones cast their shadows
on the leaves of seasons dying.
Eyes are silvered by the trembling moon;
With marble fists she’s not crying.
Across abandoned graveyard — footfalls;
strides he on gravel crunching;
she’s snaking from behind; he’s throttled
stilling craves she’s munching.
De hosts on the quadrille on dVerse tonight. Write any poem you want in exactly 44 words including the word crunch in the poem. Join us.
Also linking this to Tuesday Platform at toads.
December 4, 2017