NOT SUFFICIENT.
Posted: December 11th, 2010, 8:10 am
Larflink has the blues again.
Gilda wants to comfort, haul
Him back from the brink. He’s
Been there before, looking into
The deep darkness, hanging by
Fingertips on the chasm’s edge.
She puts her arms about him,
Whispers words into his ear,
Her breath warming in him,
Conjuring up images, the hot
Sexual pleasures of some long
Gone yesteryear. He considers
The many roads to death, slit
Wrists, cut throat, hanging by
Neck behind the door, slow
Drowning in the bath, all this
And much much more. She
Touches his neck, runs a finger
Beneath the lobe, the softest
Of touches, the slow run of
Finger around the ear’s rim,
The brushing of hair. He has
Gazed into the face of death’s
Eyes, smelt death’s breath,
Heard death’s lies, felt the icy
Fingers of death’s feel. She loves
Him still, wants to bring back
Into the light, wants to make
Love again, wants him to spread
Her wide and ejaculate inside,
Wants the sensations to return,
For him to love, for her to burn.
He can feel her fingers’ touch,
Her breathy words, her arms
About him, her wanting to haul
Him back to light and life as was
Before, but the black dogs of deep
Depression have torn at his heels
And are about to drag him away,
Their sharp fangs grip tight, haul
Him to the dark abyss and all she
Can offer is her goodbye kiss.
Gilda wants to comfort, haul
Him back from the brink. He’s
Been there before, looking into
The deep darkness, hanging by
Fingertips on the chasm’s edge.
She puts her arms about him,
Whispers words into his ear,
Her breath warming in him,
Conjuring up images, the hot
Sexual pleasures of some long
Gone yesteryear. He considers
The many roads to death, slit
Wrists, cut throat, hanging by
Neck behind the door, slow
Drowning in the bath, all this
And much much more. She
Touches his neck, runs a finger
Beneath the lobe, the softest
Of touches, the slow run of
Finger around the ear’s rim,
The brushing of hair. He has
Gazed into the face of death’s
Eyes, smelt death’s breath,
Heard death’s lies, felt the icy
Fingers of death’s feel. She loves
Him still, wants to bring back
Into the light, wants to make
Love again, wants him to spread
Her wide and ejaculate inside,
Wants the sensations to return,
For him to love, for her to burn.
He can feel her fingers’ touch,
Her breathy words, her arms
About him, her wanting to haul
Him back to light and life as was
Before, but the black dogs of deep
Depression have torn at his heels
And are about to drag him away,
Their sharp fangs grip tight, haul
Him to the dark abyss and all she
Can offer is her goodbye kiss.
