So many moons
turn months,
to moths;
fluttering feebly
on lacelike wings.
Left stinging, singing
softer flares, of match lit flickers
burning, burning.
So many cares
turn stomachs,
churning;
lost in deeper sense of yearning,
plucked from nests
and screaming mothers,
clutched in vain to drier breasts.
Where milk is moldy
tears of bracken,
dripping on an ancient highway
blended in a bloodless flood;
going nowhere,
nowhere.
I hear the song of summers sorrow,
borrowed from the beast of Nether
touching me in silver tendrils,
daring contact,
missing reason.
Without such nerve of faith required,
to truly enter
inner steaming,
felt in veins
of deeper darkness,
calling, calling.
Blank breeze does whisper
names of seasons,
gleaned in greedy starlight stricken;
his face blows light in glowing neon,
candy cane reflections, waxen
turning him to something tasty,
for tongue to lick
as eerily edible.
His touch does linger,
swallowed fever, fearing entrance;
trusting not the path before him.
Fingers glow as pallid death,
in such selfish face of moon;
where taste does tingle
coffee black,
and blacker still
for time, as waiting.
I linger longer, colder grasp;
encircled in the arms of serpents.
Frigid skin upon this pallor,
pasting pigment on my soul.
One last look;
horizon's haste.
Wondering if lust's leeching sun
will ever wake,
from weary nightmare's barren waste.
Contemplating,
stone as petal, half remembered
dreaming, dreaming.
Gold trophy winner
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and much love~ Desire~*~
