You will be my shipwreck,
drinking ruby wines
with either baby blossoms
or frustrated owl wives,
drinking till dawn
into their coral eyes
and sponge-like arms,
until you careen and crash
due to poor navigation,
onto a soiled mattress.
Washed up on the shore
by the waves of sunrise,
you will wake up
with a broken hull and mast
and empty pockets.
Testing my grammar with the intensity
of an easy bake oven, never fooling you twice.
Yet remaining as gooey as any homemade icing.
Then spend the rest of your days,
sailing blind
through the streets like sea knots.
Please tell me what you think
Comments
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"Testing my grammar with the intensity
of an easy bake oven, never fooling you twice.
Yet remaining as gooey as any homemade icing."
My personal favorite part.
Despair
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