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.