Studio8 - Uniting the Arts

Slurring, slobbering,
on drunken fingers,
I wrote my
short life stories
to you once.

Now, neath buttery moons,
once slick with innocence,
I am melting,
ageing,
into cool solidification.

Less able to urgence,
I am
more inclined,
to rot
peacefully.

Those blinding,
broadening horizons,
have become
unspoken textures,
having nothing to do within reach.

And fabric was always intangible.
Visible like luck,
disguised in drool.
You would never dream
of betting on me now.

oooh, ohh I like this very much. Love the imagery and feel to this, quite strong and powerful.

Enjoyied

P

a good poetic bleed, hes'... me gusta.

Effective imagery conveying growing older as a cooling process... The first two paragraphs especially are quite tactile.... Impactful, Hes!...

As for gettin' older... well, the alternative is worse, they say. Fine wine ages well... maybe we should keep that image in mind...