Bombyx mori

I cannot rage against the dying of the light-

rage against the tide

the callous or the morning


Early doors, she the veiled beauty glides

Black silk in ribbons over palest skin

And the dimple of a hip joint.

the finest fingers veritably ravel

back unto the spool.


Essence, fury, love, and loss alike

I cannot rage against such a sweet and private thing,

this one- frayed- assemblage,

nor in it’s gentle undoing

Chrisalides in batches over a steaming night

Allow the knots of our cells to soften

Yielding gossamer to the dying of the light

6 responses to “Bombyx mori”

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