poetry

quicksand

I would, e'en lost to dune-astray...


  Burnt-brow and singed,
        If not tiredly, broken entirely down,
          My unhinged bravado’s tucked into itself
            Like a llama’s laundry—

            As shadows draw away
          From moonshine aglint on unsturdy shelf,
      Where I’ve hidden you
    ‘Midst my sin-and-sundries.

    It’s untrue
      That I didn’t hope-is-this-love-you;
          ‘Tis a dirty lie
            If someone said I might lose my way

      To the waters of honor-due.
  You forgot your way to me
  First,
    And for a far-simpler thirst:

          A mirage-of-more, some false oasis—
            Because I’d already sought in you
      That awhirl-and-gritty dream,
  ‘Stead of succumbing to the curse

    Of its dust-smothered mem’ry.
      Still, doesn’t mean I can’t find you in the swirl,
          Though the winds wage a whip-sway
              ‘Gainst the ream

              Of parched-paper I’ve written
          To warn that mad-haboob away;
      I would, e’en lost to dune-astray,
    Wish, to my bone-brittlest day,

  That you’d’ve stayed
      To wade this quicksand with me.


Previous Post:
    Poetry: Underland
        https://windstrewn.com/2020/09/12/underland/


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