I cannot breathe. My steps falter
with each passing strike of serpent tongues made routine,
venomous fangs tipped with the ichor of ignorance.
Flippant phrases, like poisonous spittle
cast without thought, without care,
to slither through leaves made brittle
in autumn’s twilight, the crumbled remains
of shattered cardiac emotion grown cold.
My hands tremble, tired and feeble
instruments of forlorn intimacy, weary
attempts to cling to the illusion
of what can never be, begging to trace
the supple lines of unknown fantasy
and linger, forever, in the memory
of you, my love. To taste but briefly
from crystal chalices made full by your radiance.
But bittersweet intoxication in a fading dream
is all that remains of my yesterdays.
The hunger of tomorrow will find me
naked and torn, flesh devoured bit by bit
through the saturation of your careless venom.
Thankful that the soul never achieved
the will to reach for you, again.
Keith E. Sparks Jr.
Copyright © 2004, 2019
Written in 2004, Later appeared in "Facets" 2019
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