Timothy

Jack's Twisted Kingdom
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2009-09-30 16:21:21 (UTC)

vested

There is nothing stable in the world; uproar's your only
music.

~John Keats

deep brown smoldering eyes
listing in the fermented dark
bliss curling between throes
of ashbound scintillations
crosshatched, slowly burned
inflections of memories laden
thick from pounding breaths

never too far my landscaped
touch withers at the frosted
lips of a charred heart erupted
in a pitch black ichor, the
stain of lust strewn across
the paisley walls of loves'd
eternal blissful ignorance

starkly bound the crescent
wave of her arched back sends
those tantalizing threads of
vicious lies lost in some
dreamscape I cannot follow,
but one cannot help but to
gaze as she dances into a
ball, arms flung wildly into
the air, a melancholy dance
filled with loves lusted
embrace til dusk and dawn

time to watch, time to lie,
time's end and nightless
sigh's breath whatever life
was left in that kiss, that
last kiss before the dying
breath of desire milked
away effortlessly shunned
by brooding discontent, I
am roan, I am the fleeing
winds scattering all life
from these trembling bones

the yellowed lips of churlish
hot mad lust, the cinnamon
tainted taste of her gilded
tongue lashed into my mouth
follows it's course, darting
willfully into the soft mire
of her casual embrace, and
yet, here I stand, bewildered,
bewitched, and content.


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