The Last Chance
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The Last Chance was like a gunshot,
A Digger who met Artemisia almost like nought,
It moved, it flowed,
It conquered the lands of Romans
Binned with a flick of a finger in a sentence
Tapped on a tip of her tongue with no repentance.
The mistral covered the distance
All the way to the Viking lands
The booze? Nothing to choose,
The words like amadou ignited fires
In her eyes behind mystery and glasses,
She easily outclasses
Many and all, - masses.
The chatter like on a billiard-table
Rippled the imagination
Abundance of inspiration, the time did not matter,
It flattered,
It enhanced,
He has not glanced
But looked through the darkened cover
Aiming for the eyes,
The highest prize,
Lean, intense and moral
The moment captured, smile almost floral!
Fain to go, both were freely,
Fair skin, youthful and natural
Whence it comes, whence it always come?
Hope is from the heart,
Thrown to fly on a Cupid’s dart!
Copyright © Hound Of Poetry | Year Posted 2019
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