In vain have I cried for wholesome bond, 
thought society to be dead  
and overlooked stretch of rocky terrain  
punctuated  
with patches of yellow-green grass, 
it is inevitable,  
for every new moon, another man arrives, 
desolate 
and sick of desires incurable— 
what of murmurs that long to find a home  
in one’s bosom? 

A courtesan’s flesh is as blank canvass; 
is scorched by the sun 
and spread without thought, glistening white  
on the shoulders, 
yet, it is of immense value 
as one  
cannot fathom  
wandering anywhere else. 
Oh, woe to those who mistake thorn as rose. 

I crave beauty employed for raising of spirits, 
having laid with many a brute, 
sensitive eyes, 
for who else  
can tear  
through inchoate grief, 
I am demeanor, taught, not to unravel what  
lies buried within. 

Should I lose composure or compel the day 
away, retrace  
your steps back to me— I am dark  
with unspecified reasons,  
I know not  
how to be otherwise, 
simply let  
loose  
the gown and exchange sensibilities.  
It is moments  
afterward that I may reward you with a kiss. 
I haven’t been here before.

 

 

 

 

Photo credits: Pinterest

Posted for Open Link Night #365 (with Live edition) @dVerse Poets Pub