I'm not who I seem to be.
Within my golden casket,
a sarcophagus encrusted with
fabulous artwork, divinity-strewn,
a farm of loquacious maggots
chew, swallow, and digest my integrity.
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Then wear the gold hat, if that will move her; If you can bounce high, bounce for her too, Till she cry “Lover, gold-hatted, high-bouncing lover, I must have you!” THOMAS PARKE D’INVILLIERS.
Followers
The Scr1be
- Charmaine
- disclaimer:
What was written in the past
can last,
but the feelings that were felt
can melt;
and they dissolve into space
and chase
other places, other times
and rhymes.
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