You taste his tongue,
His tongue of forked solemnity
And your teeth, gnashing teeth
Of grinding ambiguity
What is it that you seek?
His soul, or a purposeful flame?
A flame that two could play in a game?
Enlighten me, for these calloused hands
Foretell a falsely etched allegory
Of certain and veracious malady
-
Your teeth of marked accuracy,
His eyes of demarcated lust
Enmesh what the others could not reach
With hands of fledgling fate –
This prolix of a game should not be classified
As a mirth that is fabulous upon a wrap
A wrap of an emerald’s sliver
And the iron sea intact within a river
Hence the squalid treason of hearts
And scarce reason in a vague, disillusioned mind
-
Hath shall never kiss while speaking
With a mouth full of lies,
Drink one more rye from the goblet,
And anisette from her mouth,
The turbid rancor in her vapour cloys
His mouth, his lungs, grips them like a mother
Lest he shall go away, never to return again
Straying in a sea skewered in one forgotten memory
Of a kiss, and a revelry
A euphoria induced by an ephemeral fury
Give up, these follies are deadpanning
Panhandling alms whenever they need some saving
-
Null and void
A body without a framework
Ebbing with a cesspool of murk
Your conscience,
His body
Use somebody
Like reasons and aeroplanes
For one, tethering departure
To disappointment
And languid eyes of disapproval
The aftermath closes its mouth,
With its fangs clasped unto your skin
And urticating hair like arachnids
We need some saving,
Foolish, sinning behemoths.
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