Stricture

cut away the slack lines
let me drift in this tide
our sable blood has cooled
now our thoughts
congealed and settled
the sediments of trust
that sparkle of lust
like elmo fire gleaming
our our skins

I want a winter Love
a fire for the damp rains
and cold touch that
wind seeks
what my hunger slakes

like a gambler jittered
on such desired stakes

and If I dream restless
and haunted alone
at least the cold light
of morn will find my
footrail sure and steady
as I take the hunt
aborne of want
and taste
to the lovely wastelands
of the most valuable
tradgic beauty

...