When darkness is dispelled,
There’s no return to innocence,
And all things cloaked in mystery,
Stand firm within confines of
Nakedness.
Half-eaten apples,
Pomegranates,
Stain the ground before me,
Fruit nectars amalgamated on my queen,
Running down her legs,
Beckoning for my
Taste.
With widened eyes,
I gaze at her,
Wondering.
So many things traipse across
The fields of my mind.
What has become her?
No longer solely mine,
She answers to
Another.
The fruit ...
Even in its discarded, near-devoured state,
It oozes the juices of
Decadence.
She sashays to me,
One foot rising,
Falling in front of the other.
Before I can inquire,
My beloved is before me.
So close ...
I can feel the heat of her body,
Smell passion on her lips.
With no words, we
Fall,
All confusion and conflict,
Fades away with
Knowing.
YOU ARE READING
Romantically Incorrect
PoetryBorn, raised, and currently living in Detroit, Michigan, Morgan Coby is a combination of many different things around him: the gritty realities of the city where he dwells, and the wondrous idealism from the fictional worlds of stories, cartoons, an...
