First love sings to me
And I’m back in her arms after all these years
Comfort in despair and certain disaster
She tastes of vinegar and reprisal
Lemon juice and forgetfulness
The abandonment of sex for the approach of relief
hedonism is its own punishment
I am not becoming, so much as I have
become a transcriber of the foil
transcriber of some self-induced hell
I’m the journalist to her embrace
And will tell, in loving detail
Her depredations and desires
Awash with sudden bliss and consummate
But she’s the only thing to
Take your place, in any way so absorbed
And I’m inclined to let her take her course
In the barbarity of solace

One thought on “Dragon

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