Soft
Soft
Worn out eyes
Dried-up eyes
Blackened & subversive
Lingering far too long
On your passive form
While autonomous hands
Work their way over that same frame
Casual,
At play
At rest
On a reactionary muscle
Soft
Soft
Electric eyes
That want for nothing
More than what is outside
Soft light, warm night, roses, and wine
Thorns and carefully placed pricks
Soft
Soft
But where was she going?
Into hinter nights
And imaginary lands
With glowing beacons
Cast off from idle hands?
And quickly
Violently
In a soft sudden rage
There she is
With her hand above his
Holding sway in a proverbial court
With the image of fears
Burning behind her tears
Ecclesiastical skins
Torn from diatribing flesh
Listen
The siren says
Listen
The serpent says
Listen
The drug says
Listen
And lie for me
The little girl says
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