a sonnet springs surprise
over the ovular
eyes of earthly elves
angels.

There is beauty in the cracked half moon imprint of your smile,

it is blood red,
painted on,
like the fastened belt we hang over my door,

it is a warning sign,
that belt,

that in this room people are *******,
by the waist,
by the wrists,
one time by the neck,
but we mustn't speak of that,

we leave the belt to hang there for the perceptive,
who never realise that this is a solitary palace,

and we gift the belt to the gormless,
the ones who come for shackles or silence.

A tuckered bucket of preening primroses,
satcheled over the left-hand shoulder,
eyes hooded like awnings over bread tinged luncheons,
its been eons since rendez-vous took your shape and form,
perilous verbosity rots away on my tongue,
my eyes are a hostage on your figure,
the gentle malice is almost imperceptible from here,
or it is but an illusion of my grandeur,
that you and your majesty had ever broken down my door,
moments leave us as prey to the day to day,
the regretful palm out gesture is unrelieved and we part,
like the single stem of a shredded begonia, petals astray and seeped.

Likened to a wave,

the overhead cloud ringing out
mutterings of daffodils and burps of bees
the land resists, smooth and indefatigable,
persisting tirelessly,

rolls of sharpened grasses
rising up in an unheeded swarm
the breath halts in the chest
like a grand mistress unsheathing her sword,

we siphon off the dregs of courage
bottle out the bravery
there are mountains of battles to fight
and only a mind of resistance tonight.

Little slips of lies
Never hurt a soul
Cradle pills of omission
And swallow them whole

i cry on the inside
it burns and it burns
i wished for the world to change
but mercy has no holding

hundreds of scrolls of poems leave my lips,
but to read is to surrender,
thus the song plays on.