| Deviant Login | Shop |
 | Join deviantART for FREE  |
Take the Tour  |
Eternal Rocks Beneath …From that first waltzEternal Rocks Beneath by ~Elentari-86
to this last kiss:
antithesis to
bliss…
Sandpaper beard bristling
my cheek, lips
(once so fiercely kissed).
sparking forgotten lust.
Mouth parted
I taste your torment.
Abysmal dungeon.
I had not sought you there
this last time (Chance
flaring forbidden lust).
Buried in groping depth
your arms
eclipsed me.
As they had in a past time.
Grey smile avoiding
My eyes. Words drowned
in choking silence
I
Left you
To smoulder and smother below
This
The last time.
Memento Regrets queue to greet meMemento by ~Elentari-86
A chain of turned-away eyes
Rejected lovers long-since-hurt
friends long-since-lost
Cracked mirror shows less
each day
'till I wonder I can see
anything at all
Even the sticky sickening
drip
drip
of my palma-violet-poetry
can't cool the
condemning blow
of each
drunken creation rising
of each
monstrous dead-love stare
each a
Slow-suicide masquerade.
[Far beyond the pink of morning
falling fields of yellow end in
icy chills of blue. Numb.
Swaying on wet sand,
mascara-smudged,
Caught in the remembrance
of reflected castles
and cut-grass afternoons.
Heavy mind
Caffeine vampire... Caffeine vampire perched,Caffeine vampire... by ~Elentari-86
Sucking life from crusted coffee mugs.
Sly fairy lights of city nights
Twinkled through his reflection;
As the glutton moon frowned down
on purple tinged trees.
Stars etched in musty condensation
Foretold futures of strange frustration…
Best give up,
Watching brake-lights speed to distance,
Yellow fingers clutching china,
Waiting for mourning.
Prelude to Blackberry Picking I drank a world through jaded eyes,Prelude to Blackberry Picking by ~Elentari-86
Faith fucking me to distraction.
Waking each deafening morning
[not to the stale-cookie-scent of
your quick breath next to mine but] to
sounds of my own silent judgement.
…Strange lullabies of Catholic guilt…
Lips painted robin red [as your
strawberry-sticky fingers
would have been each june].
My morals wear short skirts now
- loose attempts to hide [your absence]:
Guilt seems paler in a whore's disguise…
I was told
There are flowers also in Hell.
I march with some [not to your grave
- no stone was small enough for you].
Instead I eat a daisy-chain
[you would have made] each May, hoping
T
Sta.sh
