Black ink and sunbeams poetry

You, first of the last chapters, split the balance of my heart inequitably that’s ok, there is nothing to forgive, to regret for I enter exile with your smell lingering upon my skin, your eyes reflected in moonlit pools, sharp as Artemis’s arrow full, beautiful, generous and your love etched deeper than my scars gentle…

On hand and knee sun bleached grass gives way alongside a thistle, westward, weary, draught-touched envy roots like dust in my eyes, have you ever traced the Sumerian Circle with a pen, or captured the timbering echo of Babylon in a brushstroke? Now, once again, this ink-stained, once defiant heart sheds it’s skin, transfixed amidst…