Stockholme's Syndrome

Foxtrot, I have summoned you again

A halcyon grunt, desultory groans

For a zenith of you and I.

ich werde dauern, you beguile me

Throat me down, your enduring chrysalis

And my inexorable head of lead

Is lithe into the moat of us.

Lilting in penumbra of the rounded luminescence

A hunchback of the sky, boarded igneous

An indistinct balloon of God, 

A bed-head for the Heavens,

And a myriad of this, this, this.

Your harsh confused murmur, like hot, wet rock,

Cacophonies through my trepanned heart.

The languid paste falls fast from your ineffable form,

I love you great and stupid amounts.

Morgenstern coalesced petrol to my acidic coat,

And declared, have-a-sham, dear one,

Ich auch dauere, vestige roars from your hunters heart,

The quintessential irony will roar like angst, and mote it be,

The hot coal curse can detain neither you nor me.

Author's Note

This became more technicality than Art -- like one big groan of freeverse.