You said you'd give me the moon
on a piece of toast
or at least the sweet-hot peel
of her cinnamon skin.
You said you'd raise from the grave
my heart, the ghost
to fill with black-burnt warmth
that could begin
a beat to bring horned dancers from the trees
life to lift me lurching from my knees
a revenant in red
that's what you said
that night in the glimmering swell
before the Fall
but it was Carnivale.
posted for real toads
Sunday Mini-Challenge: Promises
Karin Gustafson (ManicDDaily) asks us to think about the promise behind the chocolates, broken, or missed, kept or imaginary. This is just something that popped up in my head a few months back, and seems appropriate now, as Carnivale is winding down in Venice
and it is about a promise, of sorts.
Photo by Alessia Pierdomenico/Reuters
via google image search source
no copyright infringement intended