Love in the Jaded Palace


Each season that passes brings its own holidays to the fore,

Trotting their own memories down a corridor of chipped green,

Same ol’ laughter and tears, song and dance, heartbreak and happiness,

Sunshine on golden locks, leaves tangled in brunette, snow melting on ginger.

Masked Woman

Green marionettes fill the halls, cook the fare, prattle and preach their scripts,

As I rove amongst Fate’s design, monotonous melancholy meanders through mind,

Until a flash of multi-colored flesh sets a novel upon a lime table,

And intrigue cracks conformity, drawn like a moth to lethal flame.

 

Twisting through puppet-populace, he is lost amid fickle fangless fears,

And the book fills my thoughts with queries of right and wrong,

Sinking the intellectual dagger deeper through grey matter,

As monochrome fog dissipates in pursuit of the tattooed man.

 

Destiny’s emerald maze consumes, wrapped up in daily as seasons careen,

Lips begging for kissing as other pleasures are harvested and shunned,

A tiny thread connects the cynical cygnets, looped through a maze,

Poisonous hedge, barbed defense, sarcastic and guarded conversation.

 

Haunting melodic strains emanate forth from shiny black baby grand,

The two fleshy figures react to each chord, fingers twitch to each note,

In a ballroom of verdant stone, sassy reverberations shudder spinal threads,

Crying notes of unease, aloofness, loneliness, sensuality, and morbid fascination.

 

Green onlookers bewildered as elbows and knees mind clumsy choreography,

Swaying through the symphony, tempo slows tender feet placed ever closer,

Racing heart pumps scarlet to trembling hands, gasping breath inhales

Heady concoction of masculine musk, feline grace, animalistic arousal.

 

First caress along hips brings shivers, soft notes intertwined,

Aching heart throbs with powerful secrets bestowed, fingers trace pulsing jugular,

As the figures tentatively join, holding defenses and hearts high,

Sigh of black roses prick bare skin as head is surrendered to shoulder.

Images may be subject to copyright.

Images may be subject to copyright.

Emerald walls trill with sunshine and doubting hope,

Memory is shoved to the vault, a new page is turned in life’s novel,

Strumming my pain with each key stroked, killing me softly with each feisty rejoinder,

And the screams subside for a moonlit night of a heartbound worry.

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