mendozagallery.com/.../sunsets_prints.htm
Along the dotted line my pen has paused,
to grieve while I do nowt but non descript-
It hastens me to stop and this has caused
the mammoth task by feeling less equipped.
It wrangles with the conscience doting does
alas, where love came from the penny dropped
it craves desire where love inside gives buzz,
but everything beyond it, you have lopped.
What paradise can ill afford us now
to savour with conspiring distance drawn
between sensations both in disavow,
with distance soon to metamorph withdrawn.
Considered back to back, are we to learn
that while the other sleeps one is awake
my comfort zone would ask if it my turn
to write, but nothing altered by mistake.
No words have sealed an envelope between,
encouraging personas fair exchange
for those that are so practically unseen
then why are we believing this so strange?
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