Black Bird on My Sleeve

Beads of cold sweat surface on my skin
Here and there coalescing in tiny streams
Throes of passions; the source of human sin
Regret  the envy of my thought, but not it seems.

Within comes the low murmur of the lazy surf
Narrow the passage, the acquainted place
This illegitimate struggle, this timeless sleepy curse
Disguise the throes of this serried power, panting in disgrace

Surrendering to this pulsing watchful eye
As the lean, dark-eyed man wipes his fingers wet
I am the black bird, infatuated, the clouds go by
In the taunting-pate coughs, I’m beset.

Constrained by this liquid fire, my body set aflame
Enchanting are my withdrawing moans, in vain
While yet I play this torrid mocking game
Believing the black bird will remove the pain.

Copyright © | Year Posted 2017

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