vortex by P.D. Niederhaeuser
and then the world starts turning again,
like old hinges—with pain and misery:
the stars twinkling dimly,
the sun synthetically setting into the moonrise;
very unspectacularly. very suddenly.
on the windowsill—defying the icy crystals—,
there she sits. is she a werewolf?
the full moon, he calls her. a hushed howl.
abidingly and with a soft creak, she unknots her petals
one by one, in a hypnotic succession, in an erotic dance.
it must to be impossible: the corollæ seem seamlessly interlocked.
only with each one open can the first break free from the pack.
she is a lunar panel.
every drop of moonlight is devoured by her.
soon, she has absorbed it all. the moon empty, the sky dark.
in a huge gulp—interleaving her petals again—
she swallows the light.
P.D. Niederhaeuser is a young, queer poet and a student of English and philosophy. His work openly discusses personal topics such as mental health or love and often features a profound philosophic undertone. He is a regular writer at The Unorthodocs and his work has been published in Tealight Press.