The Compost Worm Poem by guillermo veloso

Love with no skin
Is there a greater sin?
No passion-blister
No love-whisper
A turn in the bed
Marks the minute and hour
When love’s sweet cream
Is churned butter
Bitter and sour
Left alone to stitch a moss blanket
Ponder
Thunder and stone
Sinew and bone
Mortality….
The clock mocks
Time crawls
Shawl becomes shroud
And I
Unblemished by lip’s caress
Left with a love
Turned by the compost worm
Til it becomes a stranger and something less