Sunday, September 21, 2008


I have myself my own absinthe
which I somewhat wish to forget
so within my mirrored labyrinth
I’ve placed his oubliette:

To forget how his calluses
caught in my curly tresses
and gently undid my dresses,
seduced me with caresses,
and explored my mental crevices.

In the dark night he distresses…
with smooth, wordiness confesses
I was honored of poetesses
as one of the poet’s mistresses
and thereby useful to his successes.

So, I suppose, it is not
a dungeon for him alone,
more so am I the one who’s caught
within these beating walls of stone.

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