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Soused Strawberries
I fall, dreaming
of soused strawberries
swimming in frozen yoghurt,
serpentine tears
trailing on fogging glass.
I see the expansive sea
swallowing, glutting
the shattered heart,
its sledged stakes- a crimson pyre
fuelled,
flames licking blackness.
You hold
my fragmented sorrow
my love, night child of Erebus.
In the Never, we
link hands torched to
burning flesh so I weep
at our ashes, at tears
huddling to a shivery loamy dusk.
Soured strawberries convulse
in their bowl,
we fall to
Void.
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This article has 0 comments.
Admittedly, the subject matter is ambiguous: strawberries and burning pyres? No mind-altering drugs were taken in the writing process I assure you.
This is a prose’s cry to Poetry; I believe bland old prose can aspire to be placed alongside 'higher' forms e.g. sonnets, lyrical ballads, etc.
Please unleash your critical analyses by commenting, thanks.