so you will not forget him.
It is that tome,
a fire and ice concoction
streaking grey and azure spiking to red,
that is given purchase
over man that it wakes.
A startling concatenation
of moan and earth shatttering
movement that greets us.
It is a dawn of complacent ego,
malefaction unlimited to blurry eyes,
every morning that builds this equation.
Do not stalk the demon of tomorrow.
In waking we rise to find
we are already dead in his arms.
It is all we can bear
not to break his hands,
a silken tangle of affection.
x posted to freewriters and cibola
Any title ideas?