What you once called vixen,
you now mourn —
loss of her burgundy crown,
loss of her tawny eyes.
Her lips no longer ssh you,
neither do they speak of love.
All those nights, your bodies
turned from each other,
turned from sleep.
There will be no reunion,
no rippled skin
for a peeping moon;
only a blind too open,
a bed swallowing you whole.
K. S. Moore is a Welsh poet, based in Ireland. Her poetry has recently appeared in New Welsh Review, Ink, Sweat and Tears, Atlanta Review, Skylight 47 and Fly on the Wall Press Magazine. Work is upcoming in The StonyThursday Book, The Seventh Quarry and with Broken Sleep Books. Shortlists have included: Trim Poetry Competition and Americymru West Coast Eisteddfod Poetry Competition. Samples of poetry and other thoughts can be found at her website.