alas! it was her dire desire to drive
my heart, into a bull broken beside
by her red cape, bleeding into the night,
painting sullen soil with fingers that slide
in pools of her vestige, a snide sewage
of cognition of her, her presence saved,
it lingers in the air, her perfume made
from marigolds papered from ashen face,
that turned away from my sight, not to nurse
my wounds stained by steel, of her solemn church
of apathy, of angst, of ache, much worse
than what shows on her portrait in my purse,
a remnant of her, a part with me back,
lumping my love, there ain’t no pain like that
.
A little too late… for dVerse Meeting the Bar, where Mr. Tony Maude commenced the game of Bouts-rimés.
A Happy Valentines’ Day to the love birds. And the rest of you who are just like me, go eat some chocolate. I had a coconut candy instead. 🙂
Note(16 Feb): I have two new pieces written but I am just not in the mood of editing. Therefore, I am submitting the link of this one for Poetry Pantry. I will be here and there, fleeting from one to place to another, but I will reach you in the end to enrich myself with your words. Have a good day. 🙂
