a fallen claw, left behind, picked up
like an heirloom, but re-purposed in the modern way.
she's kindled by a passion, despite being brought up
by the tendrils of uncaring, unable to say
he is my warmth
instead she clings by the might of her bite
to a stone ledge, an unrequiting dalliance.
she scrapes the claw, again and unlike
her, it creates warmth within compliance.
he steals from me and yet she clings
to his body, a desperate rescue amidst the storm.
she is a murky pearl, a cloudy jade, a beige stratus
before his trembling and towering weakness.
all too familiar a touch, still strangers at heart.
youth is brutal like the billowing of bullying
whispers softly against a child's eardrums
pouring in the serum of self-effacing
depression, a simple lock that takes years to come apart.
youth is desperate like the words of the moribund,
a cumulonimbus striking at the earth quickly, yet lingering
ever feeling tension and fecund attraction --
ripping at the seams like an oncoming convulsion.
she is a victim of this youth, and he is her victim. |
Submission Name: Comme un lion en avril
