with but a wick of daylight
left in my charm
the pen clutches
the short end of existence
as the predatory writer attempts
to dispel alarm
the haphazard symptoms
sketch pleasure in the
mind
the tunnels of desire
fill with visions of
the sublime
more curious than a cat
the alluring pictures doth
pile
swift breathless pants
puff out a staccato rhythm
of want and then leeringly smile
a succulent near immeasurable
lust
unfolds
take me
I scream
with my last gulp of
aching breath
on the quivering edge
of release's hunger
'Alone Again, I Dance'....................
(Jan. 9, 2009 310am)