13 Friday Sep 2019
Posted in Letters to a Dark Gentleman, Poetry
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We linger, overlong, In beds of grass And baths of Armagnac Impaled upon the strictures of society Self-tortured by our own deficiencies. Corrupt me by degrees And inches, For Hell is fifty further fathoms deep And though I try to sink into your skin I cannot penetrate Your nearer Self.
To lack ambition, and the necessary perseverance and work ethic to achieve it, is to me the greatest fault in …
I exist outside the frenzy Unobserved As I try to come to terms with my aloneness. Lovers are volatile And …
Forgive the depth of my devotion, dear, For though I try, I cannot shake it loose; Reason is overwhelmed when …
How can I grieve for this displanted love So lately killed with canker in its breast, When I am visited …
Have you ever had nightmares like mine? Slipping Slowly Sliding into sleep When suddenly the claws of his inverted passions …
So full of self I must exhale And let the Beauty go. Goodbye to the rose-colored glasses, To Perfection gazing …
Wanting must be better than having When the consummation of our passions Cost me your friendship, which was easy once. …
Up to the stars There’s a place that I know Past Venus and Mars Down a singularity By the planets …
Let us pick up the pieces Of this broken love As fully And as swiftly as we can. We’ll kiss …
Remington Fiction 