at the same time my eyes run dry.
Dramatic plumes force their way out
through cracks in an icy crust
sitting over a sea of liquid water
at the moon's South pole
while tears are washed
down the open fractures of my orbits.
(Written for the SwampScribes prompt for NaPoWriMo Day 6)
That juxtaposition in the opening stanza is the most amazing set up for your poem and the metaphor is so well-developed until that dazzling final line.
ReplyDeletefavoring moons with your fancy, now, are we? really fine metaphor ~
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