Thursday, September 6, 2012

Scorpio

lie awake at midnight
guitar leaning against the laundry basket
unloved/untouched for weeks
 
poems circling my brain like the voice of satan
at his naughtiest 
 
and
 
callous as a
cloud.
 
at just gone midnight the face of a girl
explodes deep in my
chest
 
and I can't remember the last time
I fell for somebody
who fell for me
less.
 
at ten past midnight picturing a short skirt
on the most beautiful 
brown
skin
 
a voice quiet as
meditation
 
eyes deep as
honey.
 
two more days before
I fall numb at your
alter once
more
 
and there is nothing
so crushingly
soulless
 
as the meandering of
minutes.




--Ross Leese




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