(no subject)
My lexicon laps a liquid diet
To bring about this lurid diatribe
Fostering the exploration
Of a mind locked down from its own thoughts
Open the floodgates! Open the doors!
Let the sublimating caramel liqueur pour
I swirl, and swig and swallow singularly
And all at once, the war is clear to me
Mind and heart battle for the foreground of my mind
Alternating in my eyes
The palpable poignant feelings
Pierce, pervade and penetrate
With every flicker I feel her fingers, grazing.
With every shutter I sense her skin
Soft and supple, but seering and
Salacious. For I suspect celation
of desire for submission, to a gesture
That may persway a lover’s fancy
To sing the praises of a man she
From whom she would accept
A [trite] duodecimum of roses
Is just the tip of the-
Circus tent
In which was sheltered
A fortnight’s days in months
Spent solo, spun with sorrow
So sequestered and secluded
As if the sun had lost the moon and
The days would never end.
The hollows of my heart
Like the annals of my mind
(Aloft, they try to soar
Anon, they come to ground)
Become bereft of betterment
From a profusion of platonic Peithos
My blood and e-lectricity
Are made of my Aphrodite
So off to my circus, I retreat.
To become Adonis: that I seek.
To bring about this lurid diatribe
Fostering the exploration
Of a mind locked down from its own thoughts
Open the floodgates! Open the doors!
Let the sublimating caramel liqueur pour
I swirl, and swig and swallow singularly
And all at once, the war is clear to me
Mind and heart battle for the foreground of my mind
Alternating in my eyes
The palpable poignant feelings
Pierce, pervade and penetrate
With every flicker I feel her fingers, grazing.
With every shutter I sense her skin
Soft and supple, but seering and
Salacious. For I suspect celation
of desire for submission, to a gesture
That may persway a lover’s fancy
To sing the praises of a man she
From whom she would accept
A [trite] duodecimum of roses
Is just the tip of the-
Circus tent
In which was sheltered
A fortnight’s days in months
Spent solo, spun with sorrow
So sequestered and secluded
As if the sun had lost the moon and
The days would never end.
The hollows of my heart
Like the annals of my mind
(Aloft, they try to soar
Anon, they come to ground)
Become bereft of betterment
From a profusion of platonic Peithos
My blood and e-lectricity
Are made of my Aphrodite
So off to my circus, I retreat.
To become Adonis: that I seek.