Wednesday, November 21, 2012


Entombed in the catacomb of the moon
She reposed with thoughts of abandon
Though stippled by daubs of unease
With sensuality they were in tandem.
Tall, dark handsome she sought
With the accompaniment of force
She fancied her tiny warbling mews
Subsumed by his baritone hoarse.
She could traverse the runnel of his frame
With her abrasive tongue
And stroke with hands, spiked by nails
Runnels where his febrile furs hung.
yet when streaks of daylight ripple
The seamless image in the mirror
Striations of disquiet stud her being
And make her tremulous integument quiver
Suspended in the dichotomy of desire and negation
She augments deception in broad light
Yet the dark knight of her somnambulist dreams
Is never far from her sight.

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