A soul unraveled hapless flies
across oblivion, electronic
peeps and mutters, through the sty.
To what determined end she
births thoughts of Glory: dearth-
living, a cicerone to air and optic
cables blinking false life.
She reifies flushed faces and sparkled-
eyes as love, wanton thrusts and licking
tongues as lust, giving in to peaceful
as death.
But why?
For hope of spirit intercourse unknown
but filled as fire of the mind.
For meeting unawares with some
great thought lingering on lips,
yet unexpressed.
For giving herself through oblivion
to the hope of another.
No comments:
Post a Comment