Broken Dream

What is left?

Broken Dream

Am I to press this point

like a dagger,

to your breast?

To puncture

perfect skin

that I adore?

When I am

sorely beaten,

bruised deeply

to my soul

and would

beg your love,

and nothing more.

I, now condemned to live

through

decades or regret,

for your blushed cheeks

and bowed lips

have passed me by,

left me with

paralysis of the insane,

a syphilitic memory

to which I drool

blue saliva tunes.

 

19/10/17