after midnight

Yassy constructs a delicious though painful poem whose form I long have admired. She paints a wondrous moving scene and gives her visual artistic sense a ladder upon which others may climb. Thanks are but poor praise for enriching us but yours nonetheless.


softened whimpers
sparked by tribulation
fingers quaver as tears are wiped
stifling cries break the silence of the night
as clouds move to cover the sky
from lips a moan escapes
bosom heaving

# rictameter

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