deepundergroundpoetry.com

Six Steps From The Mignon - Grace

In the staircase, six steps from the mignon � �
the size of the filet is not the toothpick it's � �
in the sauce that you sleep in Twilight's entree � � �
� �
turning pages of stones in photographs � �
as the winds turn the pages in silence � �
with the souls of memories listening � � �
looking back over shadows in dreams � �
of a Hardbound cover whispering � �
with no time for sparrows. "The night � �
has fallen, awaiting your fate" � �
� �
the chase starts with winged ease � �
bound wings unfurled high over the countenance � �
buoyed by needs and desire to cherish � �
the wine intoxicating within the flowing veins � �
to embrace to kiss long such bliss � �
the unholy merge into one with the chaste � �
� �
they are covers from horror dreams � �
their souls are whispered memories � �
devoid of essence mere husk of what was � �
grief never touches their reasons