Again, the Green Hour
Again, the Green hour
my love,
like the blossoming
of unfelt desires.
Again, the beauty
my love,
earnest in such
keen undertakings.
Again, the miseries
of romances
lost, murderous. . .
liars.
Again, the glee
of the wretched
and their vile
foresakings.
Absinthe,
of Wormwood,
your poisons,
intoxicating. . .
My mind,
my body,
of souls' lost. . .
Again, the Green hour
my love.
Copyright © Trevor Morse | Year Posted 2006
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