Purkle Fog
Purkle fog
The purple fog descends anew,
Behind the battered green door too,
Purple flashes cross the room ,
A yellow candle burns in the gloom,
On a rough hewn table true,
Behind the battered door of green,
Where meet the misty shimmering ,
astral figures come to gather here,
a tryst for lovers may appear,
if I get me landing lights on blue?
Large yellow candle splutters here,
And wax it drips on the table near,
My feet caint touch the bloody floor?
I’m drifting back out the bloomin door,
Swinging by me toe-nails, little more,
Get a grip ole mate, try to,
I grab the beams just overhead,
And launch myself at the table dread,
And she appears in translucent dew,
My thoughts do swerve, now wadd-ya do,
Just take the babe to bed?
But this I canna do??? {what do ya do}
Don Johnson
Copyright © Don Johnson | Year Posted 2014
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