too cold the clientele's philosophy
of creases blushing shy through paper-fold.
this room is cold enough to guess an age
to tap the finest china, watch it crawl
back to where it came before the glass
reflected light from the wrong side of a twist.
all tables laid and labeled as above.
it is cold enough to snow now the prayers have gone.
the shy retreat, the brave stand still
by his own will, the penny-black
laced discreet where the timber's cut and thrive.
the lonesome bell rings true anxiety.
there is money somewhere near where the fingers smile.
point-to-point. one heavy horse. the grip of love's rapport.
neither shade of pink will share a touch or two
white maggots soul of flesh life cannot charm.
it is here among the strangers with my feed
perched as parakeet with a flower in my ear.
is there safety here? this witchhunt for an oar?
I have grown to lean to amble pleasantly.
too cold the cliontele's philosophy.
still I wait until I know it is safe to run;
-
Author:
Melvin James (Pseudonym) (
Offline) - Published: July 17th, 2024 13:19
- Category: Unclassified
- Views: 13
- Users favorite of this poem: Teddy.15
Offline)
Comments2
Trust is one of the greatest tools we can own but to trust is even greater. Magnificent once again. 🌹
thank you once again my friend.
Superb, as always.
most kind Thomas
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