Monday 4 July 2011

That Saturday night

The eager hands with vigour
Search to grab and fill full
Its treasure sac, and to glow
Around the head like a saint

Smoke unpleasant rises high
Quick to fill our sacs full
Smoke the unpleasant nose to smell
Beautiful smoke from the grill
Will I invite and yearn in earnest
To lie with on my white linen

Through their abode I’ll pass
The passing light again I’ll grab
Through the thick dark smoke
Which engulfed me like a winter coat
To suffocate and pour out
These honey juices brewed
By my watery eyes from my tear gland
Because the light is gone
Out from the star I’ve found

No comments:

Post a Comment