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Empty Flagons
With an empty flagon of the grog's misery embracing
the dusk as the shadows linger with syllables of love
Where angels are souls and the flesh is cold and
the beast within you silences the head. As my quill
becomes the guillotine whispering anonymously
unfed. My fornicating tongue awakes, under
the canopy of the master's hand unreeling the
soul on the twilight's shoals. Throbbing where
the flesh is blood in the troughs womb with
an empty flagon of the grog's misery
pulsing the evening's night
the dusk as the shadows linger with syllables of love
Where angels are souls and the flesh is cold and
the beast within you silences the head. As my quill
becomes the guillotine whispering anonymously
unfed. My fornicating tongue awakes, under
the canopy of the master's hand unreeling the
soul on the twilight's shoals. Throbbing where
the flesh is blood in the troughs womb with
an empty flagon of the grog's misery
pulsing the evening's night
Published 30th Nov 2024
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