Her
Beware her eyes, for the risk of drowning is great.
What her friendship was worth, beyond the concept
Of my knowing and the limits of my ability to comprehend.
Beware the ides of her eyes, daunting, haunting, and amber,
Her lies, her lies, her sweet little lies, no surprise is there?
Dream angel, dream lover, await the night with me.
Beware the fire inside, it burns with a passions blue flame,
White-hot searing smell of burnt flesh hung out to rot,
How hot her fires, her eyes, her lies now understood, rise.
From her ashes, slashes and returns the quick cut deeds
Underscored and scorned her lover passes on and sighs
With the cries of vultures circling overhead, laughing.
Copyright © Stephen Pray | Year Posted 2006
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