Studio8 - Uniting the Arts

Ariadne watches the passing crowds,
The undone by death, the quick marchers of

The void. She waits for Bernice amongst the
Throng. Her lover amidst the waves of the

Unloved and lost and damned. Her thoughts grow darker,
Her patience lingers on the edge ready

To leap into a row. Bernice is late
Again, the clouds promise dark heavy rain.

Ariadne remembers last night’s fuck,
The suck and kiss of love, the embracing,

The passion, the pushing into corners
Of each other’s wants and needs. Two passing

Guys smirk and grin; she gives them the single
Digital up you sign, puts on her mask

Of sin, her pouting lips, her darkening
Eyes. Her father’s deeds feed on her day to

Day memory like a leach, his hands still
(At least in her mind) within reach. Bernice

Wanders into view, pushing through the throng,
The young goddess of love and kiss and touch,

Always that tenderness, that hot reacher
Into the depths, that lover whom she loves

To kiss and fuck and to embrace so much.