Drunk As A Dancing Beacon

The rose-wine spell rummaged through my throat
Like a whimpering roar that was latched inside
To fulminate and erode with the cloying sea wall

The ghastly and suffocating genocide marauded
The glacial stillness of the breathing dungeons
Close enough to poke the wearily groveling heart

Heaven subsided and the afternoon sun leaned
Against a quivering pillar sundered from the beacons
Prancing with their shadows whilst I muse in inebriation