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r a c i n e t t e
nettles
this dust summer
is a fire
and you drawl your lithe moves
in sweet sweat and perfume
the sugar plume
dark tobacco
amber potency
thirsty against the screen
your eyes feasting beyond the
bushfields with their drooping
limbs full of heat
stirring in your weary
glass your rancinette
purse up your lips
about the pink straw
the lashes flickering
like the black mascara
line of a storm
too far to whet the
land in agony
stare into the glitter
past the junked ghost
wrecks
with their dead headlights
one heel grounded
one foot on point
stirring the thin soil
drifting in with the
night winds
on old oiled floors
in the dish stacks
your glass leans
your radio drifting
down from the room
your gloss smudged
fresh rose
the dark sweet taste
Editing stage:
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Comments
emeka ozurumba
Tue, 2014-03-11 14:41
soon the spring
and she sprung from here secession ......winter
pole-flagons from atomic heat,
i desire
Esker
Tue, 2014-03-11 19:32
submerge..emerge...
revolution through action
reaction with passion
love lust lost