09 November 2009

Eight After 8

My soul had an ache
So I took a break
To step to a cliff's edge remove

I severed the ties
And swabbed at my eyes
Much to my heart did it behoove

To row back to shore
To imbibe some more
My spirit's newfound yummy dew

Though question I might
Such garbled insight
Adhering me to you like glue

The murmur persists
My efforts desist
An octet of days fold to close

Burnt blossom uncurl
Singed petals' glares hurl
Innocuous suns and their rose

One of a million
Perhaps more robust
Aware of a need to take shade

But me, not so much
Eight (ten) hands whose clutch
Massages my will to a fade

Exquisite torture
Road rash on my ass
Yanked clear across earth, sea and sky

I plead to my gods
They just shrug and smile
Allowing all sense to defy

Logic and reason
All out of season
Upon catwalks of this fashion

To skin it all back
And slice out the flack
It simply boils down to passion.


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