Christopher Lies in a Drunken Stupor with a Girl With Eyes Like a Polished Pearl

Her serpentine density lies between the riddles of human nature, or
Fallacies and follies to recall times of war and tocks of peace, or
Bells that chime like scathing rum down the throats of the lost and pervasive, or
Calamitous rhyme and reason to chill the angels of little girls with little blonde curls
And little pearls adorning their cerulean eyes
Who dance and twirl under cerulean skies,
Where fate’s delusional harpist shouts, in a voice from heaven where towers rise
From the sandy muck of man’s replenished unparalleled and fateful, forgetful,
Doting, lamenting, chiming, alluring, deterring, repugnant abrasions of living without
That which makes one’s life worthy of living
And living so much as existing in space and time, allowing the rambunctious
Pastimes of breath and motion, and crossing from my plain of empathy
To yours, as I really, truly, do feel your tender fingertips, rather than simply the concept
Of touch, that I have come so easily reminded, so close to the thought,
So tender to touch, so touching toward the tongue of forsaken and divine iterations
Of her incarnations and brigades, that war and war at war, to shield me
And to breathe a certain kind of spirit into the longing and listless resilience
Of the planet, dead and dying, with its dregs wrapped tightly around the teeth
Of a parasite, whose name, for so long, was trapped beneath the sands of time,
The hourglass that stands upon the peak of the worth, with enchanting hands that ring
Like lyres, strung across a canyon, for her, and I, to cross, in time, and to pray
That safety comes our way, and liveliness persuades our minds toward that secular
Feeling of sentient souls, where within the solitary moments, when her hand embellishes
Mine, with a star, lined with the gems of the ocean, stolen from the driftwood
Machine of the manta ray queen, or kidnapped from the space and the stars, or borrowed
From the seams of a seahorse’s dream, riding low upon the beautiful dreamers that we
Have so long embraced, and the star-stealing lovers to whom we lost a piece of our nebulae.