Lost Love Lust

Tags: poems

• fathom.

  The night.
  A traffic of minds in the all active highway of the dark.
  The rich mind sleeps, the poor mind weeps.
  The painters brush, in a rush.
  The writers words, no longer a hush.
  Man and woman’s embrace, no longer disgrace.
  The leave’s cling and the winds ring.
  The poet’s rum awaits the morning sun.
  A guitar strum, the player’s drum.
  The lover’s [...]

• dirty ends.

  You watch the clock, the typical tick scratches the sides of the brain.
  This thing. This thing called time.
  A picture frame, the artists you seek to blame.
  Dark martini, no fucking lime.
  It is not the loves that you proclaim, but the true creations of disdain.
  A telephone ring, a partner in crime, the key to the line.
  Assign, Refine, [...]