The Piecemeal Man (abmann) wrote,
The Piecemeal Man
abmann

  • Mood:

Merlot

I have breeched Pandora's box.
Her delicate fragrance paralyzes me;
Autonomic and reactionary salivation -
this is pleasing to many parties.

Draining hope into a flute
I grasp at the cusp of stalwart
masculinity and engorged femininity.
I am warming her ever so slightly
between thumb and forefinger
as the seasoned veteran
with ferociously subtle hands.
Her tempered body and threading rivulets
on my appetence explain
the gravity of what is done.

The beast is loose.
Even as I imbibe hope -
too timid to replace
it in it's fragile demijohn -
my world is lost.
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