deepundergroundpoetry.com

The dying flame-of-burnt-brandy

If looks could kill
I would die for the thrill
Till you dropped shells of innuendos
And back flipped out of a somersault smile

There is a special place where we can meet
Where metaphors and alliteration spring off an acrobat’s trapeze
You said “I’ll drop a fist full of sugar on that trip-hop beat,
If you spin that funky-white boy record for me, darling”

We played a secret chord together,
People sang and chanted our stun gun lullaby
In my mind I see you bathing on your roof
In the heat of some American sun

Until, my supercharged mind
Is swept away in the eye of your storm
Before this feud,
Turned naughty and rude
You whistled a blurred lines tune
Then we talked and talked
Whilst you sucked then chewed
The ends of your ringlet hair
This visage will put bubbles in your bath
Such childlike perplexities
I shall never ignore
Not before, this hurricane hallelujah
Category five strips me to my skin
And settles me with you tonight
After the rubble of my mind sets
And the river banks of my temptation burst
Until the sky starts to break through some azure kinda blue
With pink auroras and orange-burst hues
My soul bleeds into your golf stream


neuroticthrillers
Written by neuroticthrillers
Published
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