Lewis Humphries
He
missed a
careworn touch,
and would often
knead the arid loam
at her tendered graveside.
From pursed fingertips, the wisps
of the fragmented land would neatly
gather in the furrows of his palm.
But
that was
not enough,
by any reach
of self assertion,
and so he made his bed
beneath the portents of summer.
Where his hands unfurled from restfulness,
and seeped conduits of the tenebrous earth.
Until
immersed
in the surfeit,
and prone beneath
a tenebrous landslide,
his colour drained against
the mantle of chestnut brown.
Where the burden of contrition,
tempered to the beats of stifled breath.
***
Lewis Humphries is a creative copywriter from the UK. His prose and poetry has featured in numerous publications, including The Flaneur, Twisted Tongue, Blue Hour, The Indiana Voice Journal and many more.