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Image for the poem A Feral Sauvignon

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  
Written by PaleSkies
Published
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