The Dance

Will things ever progress?

The Dance

When desire becomes brutal,

intense,

physical,

simply at your name,

looking at your words

and you are distant,

unreachable,

stuck,

stock still in time,

I am left bereft,

unfulfilled,

I implode.

Draw back,

into infantile comfort.

There the morose

self-indulgent

darkness seems

to pervade the day.

Thumb sucking

is an easy sport,

with little bruising,

as I lay,

my empty soul exposed

and await day break.

 

06/12/17

Author's Note

Reviews

[April Blue]

I really like the feast of words as they come together..

[John Alexander McFadyen]

Thank you April. Looked at your photographs and you have some splendid pictures.

[April Blue]

Thank you, I really appreciate you taking the time to look at my photos...

[emmajoy]

Beautiful sadness.. lovely music.