Poem by Nimoz - 20 December 2024 A
encircle the pit
an aroma of ripeness
its an old question
your body is a coven
your limbs are independent
embark and rejoin
encircle the pit
your nose is a witch
reaching down
retrieving the scent
flickering orb
aroma of ripeness
you offer
your recognition
as a gift
“I accept it”
you will ask
your question
its an old question
so old
you can’t
remember it