Progression of days playing
in a constant loop,
a marriage of minds.
The loop is safe;
just what we take,
walking all that is left.
Time hangs in the air.
Oceans dry up.
Paths wind in sentences,
give rabbits chase,
willow to climb.
Curves follow a mutual train,
pause for picnic lunch,
explicit cake.
Done with doing, I wait
for the loop to be installed
permanently; with no way out,
a cul-de-sac.
Tess Kincaid: Explicit Cake poets pen | |
| 2 Likes | 2 Dislikes |
| 71 views views | 179 followers |
| People & Blogs | Upload TimePublished on 8 Jun 2014 |
Không có nhận xét nào:
Đăng nhận xét