The Crow

The Crow swooped, dove, struck,
into the bed
That frigid night.
With your fingers crossed,
Halting your every word of light.
Wings are spreading
Beaks are pecking.
Of the 3 crows I know
The blackest crow you show.


A Faulted crow.
Just one letter short of
Nobility.
But you’re
Black, black, black,
Fragility,
Made you
Pulse, pulse, pulse,
Here with me.


Your 2 ounce promise is left in the office,
To be devoured in steam.
The bed is not so clean.
The claw markings, I left you bleeding,
By dragging you east and scratching.
A black fog advances
a flock of thousand wings of tornado movement.
The crows dashed your family red,
That fleeting moment in bed.