Tiger’s Morse

near your mouth:

a solitary spot of burgundy
on crushed snow,

a hangman’s noose
of patterns overlaid
on naked skin

and the hunter’s footsteps –

in which
peal softly:


delightful laughter

crushed twigs

overripened berries
with the lightest squeeze –

what is this language,
that my fingertips
cannot read?

© Zelda Reville

Longing was once documented in the form of the moon‘s willowy frame…


3 thoughts on “Tiger’s Morse

  1. Shivers. The lyricism of this one resonates. It reminds me of “Strange fruit” in how the coupling of your words grips me– “burgundy…stippled, crushed snow” and “echoes…peal softly”. I’m enamored of this one!!!!!

    Liked by 1 person

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