Refraction
I wanted this infatuation stone
perched on the fringe of a great unknown
wading into warm shallows called hope
my eyes out of tune with the murky shoal.
Reaching out with lusty intent
bumping infatuation over the ledge
wobbling down a trail of salty nonchalance
following like a drunken, big footed clown
leaving sunlight behind with each foolish stroke
into a deep blue ball - unforgiving cold
blue relenting to a black pod abyss
until the soul struck the floor of godless
a million stones for a fool to blindly grope
with handfuls of infatuation, I quickly rose
each stroke loosing a few more stones.
Breeching the surface with nothing left
but the refraction of lust and the ghost of regret.
Copyright © Anthony Biaanco | Year Posted 2018
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