Phantasmagoria

You were a Lincoln,
four Abe’s tall
and an N.Y skyscraper
of stories to tell,
of how you
[fell]
for every upside down 6′ 11″
walking cataclysm,
that promised to fashion you
into a date
worth remembering.

Jukebox cheeks
expelled wind-chime laughter,
plastered smile
conceals disaster,
Morse code pulse
crescendos faster,
sapphire eyes
resemble Casper;
we all knew
that they would ghost you;
but tempo through
for wounds
erode you.

Still.

I will wait for you,
like rush hour traffic
for a drawbridge;
like a bride’s face
bridled in fiance’s coma
after torn re-introductions.

Still.

Waning
Anticipation.
Inanimate.
Tinted
In
Nude
Gullibility.

I wait.

Advertisements

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