Malice
A dance of death, a greedy chore
Trapped inside these creature comforts;
A chance of life may become a bore
Outside this pleasantly right hurt.
But, soft and fair, though, of the skin,
In flesh a silent malice lies
Dormant, unnoticed, not used in
Context. Still, touch me as day dies.
And you, a ghost I cannot touch
By reaching out to Heart or mind,
Caught up in this sweetly rush-
Jaded: Nothing else left to find.
Superfluous and flushed, we breath
In gusts, unable to be free.
Copyright © Jenna-Nichole Conrad | Year Posted 2012
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