Sensory deprivation douses my days
Neither perfume, nor pictures
to placate
No cadence of a voice contrasted
No distractions, now look away
Ban all Color
chromatic avian avoidance
But It only takes one slip
to oxygenate those sacred sepia images
You were the reason!
you eviscerated “grey”
the enormity of a
pixilated instant:::
the shadow of a look
Arise again, stand tall and seductive,
awaken a cleft heart again
but the pleas go unheard
and
callous knees make for hollowed souls
this crawl so familiar, hallowed, fetching... as I look now, upward at your
carnal,
cardiac,
catharsis
I find that familiar rush
The drilling down of blood :::
Presses through once indifferent veins (my lamentation inoculation... you are viral once more)
Imagined love had seemed so tame.
The cataclysm corners, hidden well in green eyes,
inauspicious,
until
it’s time (to strike)
tensions feast on the remaining light (dusk remains, night yields, but those eyes they’ll haunt forever).
When was the last time I grasped your fingers?
When jungle lust simplicity gave way to
the steady silent ether of complacency
I knew
I had
lost
her
Yet, I still reach for the smell of you on my hands. It’s no longer there. The cruelest of nostalgias to soothe my most masochistic of reliefs.
Nov 23, 2018
Nov 23, 2018 at 11:34 AM UTC
Sensory deprivation douses my days
Neither perfume, nor pictures
to placate
No cadence of a voice contrasted
No distractions, now look away
Ban all Color
chromatic avian avoidance
But It only takes one slip
to oxygenate those sacred sepia images
You were the reason!
you eviscerated “grey”
the enormity of a
pixilated instant:::
the shadow of a look
Arise again, stand tall and seductive,
awaken a cleft heart again
but the pleas go unheard
and
callous knees make for hollowed souls
this crawl so familiar, hallowed, fetching... as I look now, upward at your
carnal,
cardiac,
catharsis
I find that familiar rush
The drilling down of blood :::
Presses through once indifferent veins (my lamentation inoculation... you are viral once more)
Imagined love had seemed so tame.
The cataclysm corners, hidden well in green eyes,
inauspicious,
until
it’s time (to strike)
tensions feast on the remaining light (dusk remains, night yields, but those eyes they’ll haunt forever).
When was the last time I grasped your fingers?
When jungle lust simplicity gave way to
the steady silent ether of complacency
I knew
I had
lost
her
Yet, I still reach for the smell of you on my hands. It’s no longer there. The cruelest of nostalgias to soothe my most masochistic of reliefs.
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