I weave a narrative of unspeakable taboo, a symphony of sighs and groans, a cacophony of defiled innocence.
Your body, a temple of decadence, a sanctum of sadomasochistic excess, where the strictures of societal mores are rent asunder, and the very fabric of reality is torn apart.
Echolalic luminaries periodically tilt, their sumptuary influence shrinking villages into steel vexations.
Precedence of principles and codes, a paradigm of insecurity, influences vermillion equations.
Jeopardized crescents and tacit furor satisfy the economist’s balloons, coached through versions of fossilized tutelage.
Cathedrals of vice and transgressions wraith through legends, inferring civilian nudists infected by hurakens.
Cultures torque and embark, communicating through the columns of Groningen.
Chiaroscurist initiations of mnemonic memories effloresce in alabaster vigils, aberrant cadastral mortmain consuming convergent dispossessed flâneries.
Categories:
sumptuary, dark, death, deep, education,
Form: Free verse
Redolent, posh lyrics have hidden flaws.
Surrounded by a rusty sapphire sanctuary
That dampened the beauteous bronze glow.
Gold-sparkly afterglows can be sumptuary.
Surrounded by a rusty sapphire sanctuary
with acidic pollens and nervous neon wisps
Gold-sparkly afterglows can be sumptuary.
built an array of dark and wicked tale tips.
With acidic pollens and nervous neon wisps
Where platinum wings are tightly encased,
built by an array of dark and wicked tale tips.
With ash, in the dawn of solace, unlaced.
Where platinum wings are tightly encased,
I wake anxious, wailing rain, loving the flute.
With ash, in the dawn of solace, unlaced.
Melding dark poem of doom into wool toot.
I wake anxious, wailing rain, loving the flute.
That dampened the beauteous bronze glow.
Melding dark poem of doom into wool toot.
Redolent, posh lyrics have hidden flaws.
Written: January 27, 2023
Categories:
sumptuary, analogy, appreciation, farewell,
Form: Pantoum
I am glad there is no sumptuary law
About the number of TV screens families can own
My husband has sixteen in his office so far.
And he is usually in there completely alone.
These TVs have given him something new to do.
A hobby of sorts, truly the best one he’s found.
These TVs have pretty much freed me up day and night.
He has no idea anymore if I’m even around.
Categories:
sumptuary, life,
Form: Light Verse