Conscious State

There is no firm ground
from which she can stand
nor lie on,
as like a cherry plum
bouncing away
in the rhythm
of an echoing drum.
anticipating the break and ruin
of that deathless thumping,
pounding ,
beneath her tender skin,
hope he hears
the nonchalant
muted fracture.

Do tell how to cease
the stagger and swagger.
in search of, if any
composed interlude.
he can never tell,
she endures through
way confounding nausea
reticent breathing drawn
in vacant chasm
of unsettling.

hiding behind filthy tresses.

  ~mje Tuesday, April 6, 2010 at 11:25pm