My jugular severed,
I settled in at the Tunisian cafe
I felt fatigued, yet rabid,
sanguine, yet morbid, through the day.
A joyless Westwend dusk wisped
anemic clouds Southward.
Mind flies to ornate red lampshades,
Sepia and flesh toned walls toward…
which are enacted, here in
a purgatorial sitting room
dolorous men and bored girls recline
on plush couches, languorous in their doom.
'My world ends at your breasts' I confessed,
to her whose eyes into mine were inclined to focus.
Her thighs, essential equine, though enrobed
in layers of silken river, to caress my cheeks
their emergent warmth a perfect contoured…
slivered existence, separated from my incited senses
by an absolute injustice inherent in, simply all.
She exerts a pre perceptual ploy- a pull-
As is in that moment before I wake something disquiets breath.
A veiled image quakes,
carouselling its affliction half down my spine
while I regret the consumption of such caterwauling rhyme.
I've quoted some forgotten shred of nerve for who knows whom.
Hollow halting handclaps echo through the empty room.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem