Scrimshaw

May 22, 2014 22:44

The final glances,
the final throes of
the timepiece'
reminder.

The portal's mantle,
narrow edged and
oddly hallowed.

Repetitious
cross contaminating
malicious enzymes
of downward firing
hopes and
a final convalesce.

Gunpowder fragrance,
noir romanticism,
ingratiating kindness
from friends understanding -
alleged.

Peaks upon the horns
of finality,
infinity is but a myth -
for catharsis via
cardiac embolism
be poetic suffering delicacy
the world around.

Sirens clad in
hand-scrawled ink
be the muse of my desires -
porcelain counter-culture
murals waltzing and
cavorting.

Await the day, I digress -
until such a siren may
scrawl her affections unto
me...
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