The Morning Omen

Smooth, gliding glisten of the morn you are
Dew, deathly dew, threatening to remind me of
The storms, that are rolling, always not far
From here, the pressure of an approaching
Fear, churning in the way the curtains churn
Now, a thing coming, rising upwards and opening
Mouth, so black, and patient, knowing how to
Eat, properly, without slip, this body will fit
Perfectly, and slide down inside like hot liquor,
Perhaps wine, the deep kind, the kind that the
Belly rumbles, clenching around to crumble and
Die, I will, quiet with a form that will not spill
A drop, a dollop, I shall be all gone,
The end will go on I sense, for
Far, too long, well into the morning.

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out / Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out / Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out / Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out / Change )

Connecting to %s