With a sweet ardor of rose and a thorn I compose the sting, the salt, the blood of ink's concubine deep in shadows of the equinox in the vine's divinity of breath a delirious shade of twilight with hallucinations in the dark crypt then a dream's deep sleep of opium's green eyes with shades whispering volumes from the halls of my mind's portmanteau
Like a greenfly buzzing at the sill falling last breath in twilight's gills a keyholder is drawn to the pale in shadows with the death of my quill listing to the nib squeal lonesome in my dead eyes I a prisoner of death, his scribe emptiness has replaced my life and now write verses only for him blood in the antique copper inkwell that longer flows in bony white fingers falling last breath in twilight's gills
If I lose my thoughts through learned eyes of an old poet there is another page of cornbread and cold buttermilk a page of mirth with butterflies and dandelions to make me sneeze while counting petals of such precious clover a basketful of autumn's cornucopia over that rainbow of showers with flowered little tokens as yesterday's promises all wash away upon a bluebird's mighty wings of melancholic sing...
Intoxicated by the night's velocity watching as the sun fades away like petals on a wilting rose. Why the silent dark of night often speaks louder than a bursting light of day. No one knows.
The darkness surrounds me like the fog hovering over the mountain peak. Your loving warm embrace that ignites my soul on fire is all that I seek.
Looking at your face and see a shimmer in your crystal blue eyes like the moon's reflection dancing across the waters of a cold still lake. Holding close to me your words whispered in my mind's portmanteau. ...
The clock ticks for the jester’s soul, as the tidal waves drink. Tongues spoon, of the night's distance howls. Thirst of blood drips on the moss. A metamorphosis’ taking flight. In stains obsidian whisking pale.
Beast clawing, mauling, over the piney woods. The devil is in the wicked details. Shorter than the breath of life. Pain penetrates its scars. Skin festering as the moon's soufflé rises.
In its quest for revenge. The stench of human demises. No savior shall be found, sealing death's encore. Ashes to ashes to the ground seep the spores.