Pluma

Her eyes no longer interest me,
only blankness that
only harbored illusions.
Her smell is a toxin.

An old Chinese proverb says;
Don't trust those that murder you in dreams.

I feel the moistness run off my arms
as we glide through the clouds.
My arms wound tightly around you
       (I never want to let go.)  
as your black feathers tangle themselves
in my hair.
Don't stop flying.

Keep the clouds as your
antidote.

Reviews

[Emily B]

Your title drew me in . . . An intriguing write. Someday with the right care and tending it will be a beautiful diamond. That said, The 2nd only on the third line is too much. I don't necesarily need the article 'the' in front of clouds. But that's a personal preference. Read it aloud and see what your ear thinks.

Aside from that it's just about perfect.