Coming Undone

Dear Unknown Poet,  

I tried to write a poem
(a token of appreciation, undying admiration)  
twirling time into pirouettes  
stared at the ghostly page  
languages of Babylon fell silent  
once vivid with age  
breaking my pencil and  
tearing the paper to shreds.  
I laid on bed of thorns  
to dream the imagery conjured on my walls  
the strands fell tangled in barbwire  
shattering the silver mirror to silt.  
Traced the braille of leathery cover  
with weary fingers, releasing the scent of musk  
announcing the forthcoming dusk  
then submerged with it in a tub of tea water  
Rose petals afloat, fragile blushing moons  
bleeding la petite mort  
my head on a marble stone  
reposed, dream-weaving  
all that the sun choked.
In this realm,  
our worlds grind like old stones  
shedding skin  
tongues entwined, serpentine  
tasting cursive words coating the throat  
of mellowed vintage wine  
metaphorical colors drown at the rim  
aslant to the timbre of your sound.  
Eyes wide shut  
I stumble
drawn to light  
turning the page  
needing more  
wanting more  
an un-end.
Written by Layla
Published | Edited 30th Jun 2018
All writing remains the property of the author. Don't use it for any purpose without their permission.
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RevolutionAL anonymouslyhere Ken
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