Bleh with Barry

Random with a cynical twist of lime.

Dying of the Light

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One last sunset

Red, violet, goldenrod,

Tangerine, then,


I meet my maker

Tonight as a

Thousand stars


Moon drenched

Night. Beside a

Clear pond of


Icy finger tips

Brush the nape of

My neck chilling


Warm kisses of

Death travel the

Length of my


The smell of moist

Earth, a hit of

French perfume


A vice grips my

Wrist, closing and

cutting my


A drop or two of

Crimson spills on

My peach sundress’s


Hot salt and iron

Pours into my open mouth

When I’m too weak to


Swooning in his arms

An orgy of flash

And fantasy daring


Sleepy. Borrowed into

Moist sod. Morning

Will come too soon.

But I will be shielded in

My satin shelter.

Written by uncannynerdyguy

March 13, 2010 at 9:15 pm

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