Erstwhile
Doyenne languor holds.
This time immediacy fingers the tired instruments,
the poor unshapely dimplex
as a rule warming the hands.
My honor and my spree beleaguers thee,
so won't you marjorie your way
by way of honoring
this profligate enjoyer of cigar smoke
from another mouth?
Monthly apparatus points leave tiny flings
astir. The stars incite
romantic frost to level play,
thus fielding correspondence
course correction.
Daily brides turn bribes and sentences
relapse. I ought to be a grain of flaxseed.
Mantra after mantra plies
the whimsy from the hover
craft impinging on the infinite largesse of weeds.
Why does affection reek of
steel taste in the emblematic falsehood
of an alcohol
replete with
blithery stall techniques?
These selfsame plots
arrange themselves in minds of twenty
some detained sine-waved
deportment. Why not
compromise and speak to me?
Sheila E. Murphy
|