deepundergroundpoetry.com
A Feral Sauvignon
In poetic fornication, Gildersleeve of my mind.
From the quill of my soul, foreskin dipping dead.
Sipping a feral Sauvignon, excommunicated,
From life a darker shade of red, not a rose.
Coursing through veins as the sum of the red drips,
From a thorn escaping the pretty gardens and butterflies.
The butterflies turn to stone and the sun is only a memory
Painted on a canvas, a host of my immortal ghost
Kayaking over cataracts beyond the Rosary beads
And the Fata Morgana
From the quill of my soul, foreskin dipping dead.
Sipping a feral Sauvignon, excommunicated,
From life a darker shade of red, not a rose.
Coursing through veins as the sum of the red drips,
From a thorn escaping the pretty gardens and butterflies.
The butterflies turn to stone and the sun is only a memory
Painted on a canvas, a host of my immortal ghost
Kayaking over cataracts beyond the Rosary beads
And the Fata Morgana
Published 28th Mar 2023
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29th Mar 2023 00:55am
👏 👏 👏 👏 brilliant 👏 👌 👍 musing I am captivated by your work please 🙏 keep 👏 on writing ✍ ok peace ✌ and blessings 🙏 always 💖
29th Mar 2023 1:00am
29th Mar 2023 5:25pm
