Panacea
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Exquisite throes
You feigned forgive
Such shining sand
But sans a sieve.
While your intent
Was double-down
You kissed me deep
To watch me drown.
A phoenix flamed
Availed and cursed
Thus meant to quell
Your fiery thirst ...
But molten ire
So coolly poured
Is hell-and-gone ...
Your hellish hoard.
~ 2nd Place ~ in the "Strand Select Y Any Form Any Theme" Poetry Contest, Brian Strand, Judge & Sponsor.
Copyright © Gregory Richard Barden | Year Posted 2020
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