Pondering the potency of your peacock pride,
Leaves my eyes as bloodshot as my bowels.
While spring showers the desert with salad Sunday memories,
I paint the plastique power of a lover’s persuasion on a canvas of Monday’s insomniatic dreams.
I’m steeping in a swamp of your sepulchral speech,
And your Libra’s lunacy casts serpentine spells upon a piscine compulsion.
But spare no shred of sorrow for its recipient’s regard.
So here’s an ode to an age-old peasant’s predilection for a princess in her panties.
It seems that all of her pining for the pacific came in vain,
It seems that paternal protocol kept her pinned to the pacifier.
Now, seeming, she’s dreaming of her dungeon in daddy’s dominion,
(Voila!)
Vanished is the vinegar and the velvety veneer of Venus’ convictions…
You are Hurricane Katrina, the Cold War, and the fall of the Roman Empire…
You are the rain on Good Friday and the sun in the dead of Winter…
I am the stars and the moon, alive in the heat of summer…
I am the alligator tears cried from the lies in your dark brown, diamond eyes…
Keep your watch tonight miss moonlight for it’s only a matter of time,
A sign of the crimes, committed while feigning a change in your state of mind.
As the sun does its dance and divorces the day,
You’ll be showering with your sugar daddy, your sirens singing.
Then a symphony of serenity will sink your integrity and sirens no longer stifle the shrieks of insanity…
While upon the shores of serendipitous solitude,
The sun shall return to find harmony in the heart of the day.
And superman shall scrutinize my falling star through the skies in your eyes….
And for a second, the soundtrack from a motion picture shall sing sirens, ringing in your ears.
Now binging at dusk is your dingy, seasick secret,
Cringing through a memory of sex on Sunday mourning,
It’s your slurring scorn for your father’s warnings…
Your shameless stunt, you’re stripped and stark, blushing naked,
An obdurate affront to everything so soft, and sacred…
No comments:
Post a Comment