|Written Whilst Waiting on the Boiler
||[Nov. 15th, 2010|12:21 am]
He reclines supping wine in the bath,|
a delightful light but full-bodied
New World Cabernet Sauvignon, and
awaits some divine/ inspiration?
some scantly clad angel possibly/?
or the power of meditative
brain slowing. Yes! We would see me dumb
and unable to stutter through these
few stragglers proclaiming themselves so
vehemently, but which I cannot
articulate, even too myself.
He leans back to slowly suffocate
in the interplay of light across
chemically almost fragrant foam.