That, feeling

right in the pit
curling
a feather with boots and wings

that, feeling
of desire
of a need to compress

tremulous it starts
spreading
wings of springs and glorious things

that, feeling
of apprehension
of a call to unwind

such warmth
rising
calling and falling

that, feeling
of inhibition
of a flavour to inhale

and so release
into the wild
of the evening sky

Ancient Virgin

The last book
found
amongst the littered remains
of a struggled past

a survivor
unread
unopened
an ancient virgin

devouring eyes
pore over

loving fingers
caress

pages flutter
with each delicious
touch

words drip
with each bacchanal
read

Overcome with
saviour’s emotion
the last book
found
crumbles
… crumbles
… … crumbles

no more books
no more pleasure
no more whispers
no more life
no more pain
no more love
no more joy
no more emotion
no more soul
no more words
no more imagination
no more passion
no more feelings
no more death
no more
… no more
… … no more

The last book
lost …

~

This was first posted here on September 5th 2011 (edited)