I think about you more often than I ought
Forbidden fruit of that Lydian King
Is this not my penance to see your smile
and salute all flags and standards
And not prostrate before with mad humming
And lewd gyrations of the body
How sick of a thing to want that which brings the soul to sickness
The antidote is the poison and the apothecary is confinement
If I'm not free than I'm at the very best fettered to hope
Not hope for escape but hope in that unknowable thing that the world is better off
If I eat not from that tree and fast from the garden.
YOU ARE READING
The Penultimate Pleasures
PuisiA collection of poems meant to embody the ongoing struggle of souls seeking shelter in modernity. (Let me know what you think:)
