to the muse For a moment there, I saw her face. It wasnt like the one she wears. Her mask in fragments on the carpet; as she stooped to pluck the chord. It was sharp, and quivered, paying dues to a bitter hymn. Her lips -- a dirge where day dreams danced in creases that I longed to sing. To tame, but not to borrow -- not to bury, but to have to have not to give, or givings bring. A lie beneath her brow in place of truths; a love that stings. Her throat, as sweet as apples -- a catacomb, my tongue entombed where canines, white as pearls, kept in shadow of a sneer. For a moment there, I saw her face. It was hideous, and bare. ;)
Posted on: Tue, 05 Aug 2014 19:56:53 +0000
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