Wednesday, December 2, 2009

Stop-Motion

Black tresses splayed across chest,
metronome breaths–
diminutive form encapsulates;
primal four-lettered perfection.

Puckered plump bow-tie lips,
trail the expanse of this canvas.
Writhing rhythmic gyrations,
pure angelic indecency.

Melding the destructive creation;
chaos– volatile cherubic offspring.
Toeing climax’s ephemeral line,
mere vermillion light in hindsight.

No comments:

Post a Comment