An old poem of me studying imagery and word play while rambling about love.
Write two rites the wrong way.
First for lullabies to later be relayed with crimson twilight under blood red lunar satellites, second for paths and passages whether the narrow whining like a kettle or winding and paved in dirty yellow metal.
Used for useless fights without strife.
Better off righting gray shade morals and spying- finding out which one is further more desirable to the masses or two dumb-asses whilst all tall tails curl around the sodden cradle; wet with fore-mother’s experience and fore-father’s fables.
Too quick to hit the breaks and fix it right-away.
Too late to question picking the leprous onion, should even be on his platter as either an experiment of greed or lust or the latter; climb down the dignity ladder and who ever falls first is sadder.
Terrible fruit capture without citrus.
Rotten, full of worms, spoilt, caked in dirt, but not worse than the auto-cannibalistic-self-carnivorous garden snake slithering this way to bite the forbidden urinal fruitcake.
Four rites unhallowed.
For rites un-followed one must swallow what little self is left and face eternal unforgiving punishment in cause of the tempt; melt along with the temp and watch your temperament, which should be easy to admit being more than lone friends.
The goat way of loving you.
A satyr’s way of loving you is touching you with icy hooves in December.
The snake way of loving you.
A serpent’s way of loving you is sinking it fangs into your heart’s center.