Star-fishing along
the white shores
Of the moon,
Some are angels,
others are demons,
Some are unsure in
this valley
Of galaxies to
adore,
Some are just lone
planets
Floating by the hurl
of gravity,
Others are fallen
and sunken
Like plains of
deserted land,
Or empty milk
cartons scattered
Along a vacant lane,
You had your face
turned away, slightly only,
Part of it concealed
by your dog-like hair,
With your Valentine
tongue caressing
Your lip beneath,
gnawing at the peel,
Your beauty spot moved
somewhat
Along with your
decrepit, truck-stop eyes
Of Isle blue, and
your junkyard mind
Some place else,
toward the place
Where I sat,
And you watched me
with your
Risqué torso
gyrating against
The luminous orbs
floating about your frame,
As if you were born
to a magical name.
You removed your
shoes when
The first meteor
collided,
And then your
sweater when
The second one
merely did
So much as scorch
your vanilla locks,
Until the gyre of
angel dust, revolving,
Like a mass of weeds
upon a seabed,
Sent you right back
to the womb
Of your own destiny,
Before I was awoken
by the panting,
Of my own bewildered
imagery.
© Copyright. 2012. Raeez Jacobs.
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