The tongue, stained in a pool of Cherry Rocher…
an aperitif of crimson red. as the elbow is my pillow,
warming the farhenheit of the pulse that you speak,
in a lonely bed of sheets dancing.Touching a symphony
of lies, with a scent of shadow and your blood’s extract,
a taste of vanilla. In blue veins of your heart…And I am
the phantom, starving for the skin of a grape, tracing
the indigo of your memories leading to my mind’s ink
and Rorschach Test, saying it best. “Goodnight Miss
Calabash. wherever you are.”
Rated for Everyone
“Goodnight Miss Calabash”
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