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Come, wayward stranger, towards me.
Let us confirm mythologies of love expiration dates.
It's as hard as my rhythmic illusions
Of cigarette-like dreams, weaved in my nightmares:
Explosive and ready to burn painfully
For art's sake.
Take for example the twitching of tongues,
Strained souls feeding on afternoon raptures
Escalating to heights unimaginable but reached,
Forgetting time;
Taking for granted the dim light in the darkness.
Picturesque maroon emotions displayed explicitly
Shameless because hopes are futile at this time of day.
I detest that, but you groaned, spit and spite;
Convulsions, repulsive, finished.
Breathing kerchieves are useless, Sweet Sigh,
To unstain your wicked infidelities;
Out of breath from sinning too many sins.
No options to pause
Or relish
Death.
------
rbs
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