I figure if I stay quiet
then I don't have
to do anything
Husks of days
laid waste
dog heels
in yapping cacophony's
embarrassing feet
bent on walking the line
without deviation
We are sacrosanct
a holy union of ideals
praying at each other
with smooth fingers
pressed in supplication
Fucking is a hymn
the harmony of flesh
rising to meet God
A perfect song
we sing
only sometimes.
3 comments:
this is a great poem. I could do without the fucking line, but that's probably just my prudishness. It certainly has an impact among those words of holiness and union.
You may not write often, but your writing is better than ever.
Thank you kid *hugs*, I know the "fucking" does jar , and I could probably come up with something else, but it says what I want to say you know?
Almost killed me trying to write this lol
well it was worth the struggle. well done
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