Smeared.

I will watch the candles cry
themselves cold
stare out the oil lamp – until it burns dry.
At the heart of the ridiculous, beats
the sublime.
Loving you – me;
the single flower of the flock
Always the one, addicted to your addictions
in all their unpalatable truths.

Disciplined in all of your art form
white suffused with red, a smear by any
other, would simply be pink.
Extracting sound bites
the shadows of life – fast forwarding
the replay dial called living.
Distant on some calling bay
the tide long ebbed
as raindrops rare – show how a city glows.

I in silence lie about my bed
bleached roots – to anchor
the rawness of this canker.
Last night I did not play with sleep
as I fell into the madness of sharing
what is mine.

Poppy November 19th 2014 ~xx~
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3 thoughts on “Smeared.

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