A dollop of
your vanilla dream
once would melt over my
freshly baked brownies,
rousing the
uncurated passions
that were born in my ribs.
I know the allegory
is still strumming
your guitar,
moonbeam,
is silver dust
tucked in your
midnight hair still.
Yesterday
a day long
worn out cloud
hanging from your clothes line,
droped in my palm.
The lucid green
of weeds
implored the voilets
of your burgeoning rainbow
billowing in my
million shades of red .
Pray, set your boat sailing,
sailing in my taciturn puddle
Where a few unspoken
timorous fallen dreams
still shall gather
your epochal oar,
and stay tangled
with a roaring silence.
Pray, let’s get padlocked
in the rain of my palm
and meet that
doused boat where
a not so caliberated
street light
still flickers meekly.
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Connect with Penmancy:
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- A Feminist Prelude - 13 Feb 2023
- Loose Ends - 18 Dec 2020
- Cold Summer - 13 May 2020