The death lies so close,
I can taste her darkness,
Leaping, gradual but so quickly.
Why has thee evaded me so?
If only the silken reverence lasted.
For infinity, on diamond hooked clouds,
You hang, by the nape of the dashboard,
Entangled in some sort of miscommunication;
But yet you still smile, that same liquid smile,
Deviline flowered, swiftly bleeding.
I hear the queer sound of Sunday,
No, not the church bells or the hymns,
But the graveyard waltz,
From funeral poppies.
Your laced trimmed jacket,
Sleeves entwined between puddles;
It rains, pours;
Down, down, down,
Pools that dance, sleep,
Bleed naked for my mind.
For the death lies so close,
I can always taste her darkness,
When, when will she let me sleep?
©Ashley Leslie 2013
