Treasure Island

Dean Meredith


Metapsychosis


The grub emerges
Slowly
Struggling
With wings
Of some sort
The goo dries
A flame beckons
Like a belly dancer
Her name is fate
My magic carpet circles
Eyes fixed firmly
On the prize
Closer
Closer still
Her flames
Breathe me in
Ah...
Paradise!

Submitted: Sunday, January 19, 2014

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