Wednesday, December 24, 2008

The Dull Aftermath

The worn-out dawn did not whine;
stains of the old wine’s red,
smeared the edge of gray.
The shady hill stood like a phallus
penetrating the frigid blues.
Orgy of the preceding night’s black
had sapped away the blush
from the overexerted spheres,
satiated and now colorless.
The batter of the lover
out of the blue,
the electrifying caresses
flaming the crevices
in to a yearning exhibition
of stunning outlines.
The incessant rumble
of drums in the dreams
of the lovesick soldier.
The sky came near to the ground
to partake the earth’s quake,
gasping in ache and the lust’s reek.
The deep gorges thrusting out
in craving submission
and the gushing flow of
thundering love filling
the wild vales now given in.
The languorous, gray sky
reflected another dreary mind.
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