vandalised on purpose,
the victim is the hunter
leaning in,
bleeding into
the gutter.
foul- mouthed
pretty whore
beat you 'gainst
our whetstones.
whetstones.
whetstones.
whetstones.
i sharpen my jagged talons-
prepare to strike,
prepare to seek-
prey and hunter sing in unison,
sing of purged coal and venison.
i believe we've fallen from
the same realm,
we've plummeted from a blessed circle of hell,
seeking the same heaven among the sundry colours of earth.
clandestine meetings
in well groomed manholes,
best-kept secret are our
dead beat gravestones.
gravestones.
gravestones.
gravestones.
upon our forbidden bones.
+++
YOU ARE READING
ESOTERIC PHILOSOPHIES
Poetry-thoughts in the form of little rivulets that part from the undulating river of my cryptic mind in a poetic jumble of words- ~ e s o t e r i c p h i l o s o p h i e s ~ ©Aneet, August 2015 lowercase intended
