On the brink of devil kissing virgin summer,
As the sun burned shreds of treacle on the sky;
Traced the lips upon the breast of brimstone woman,
By the lilies in the river running by;
As a hedonistic fever sacked the orchard
And the fruit of pregnant angels fell to ground,
An eclipse cut out the power to the stations,
All the radios made not one single sound.
Empty dwelling in the dreaming of desire,
For experience to bite the hand that feeds,
A tequila sunrise lemon soured the sucrose,
When the urgency of yearning fades, recedes.
On the threshold of a noble savage feeling,
Of a pagan urge to whip the luscious crack,
Either fear or redemption reins the serpent,
Faint regret at faint reprieve in holding back.
Copyright © Tony Bush | Year Posted 2005
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