Broom season

This society has the strange taste of arsenic 

diluted  in the smoothness of liquorice juice.

An improbable of déja vu  in the colors

of  unfulfilled  desires ...

Does  this girl who  sweeps the floor

in a empty cups day  ,believe in unicorns ?

She performs a dusty rondo that perhaps 

only  Mozart can hazily  perceive ...

In the evening she'll take her pleasure,

the broomistic  kingdom  asleep ...

This society tastes like a   vanilla cream

ending in a brackish memory ...

This girl  is just a clumsy  young  witch ,

not Elizabeth  Montgomery ...

 I'd like to posses her soul  and leave 

her body to the  broom ...

She appeals me,like a suicidal sunday morning

when you put off sweeping your life clean ...

This society has the bitter tast of a maiden

who's going to put her broom away 

in the closet of illusions ...