Lunatic

The pleasure leisurely basking
In the divan of iridescence
A fandango of ocher and vermilion
And the assuaging warmth
Spoke of many gambling riddles
Pawning the omnipresence
For ephemeral thrills
And when the cold of the night
Dissipates with the temporal dark
The garish sun would swoon over
The dabs of recuperation and
The idle volcano will erupt
With arduous lavas in the hottest
Spits of heaven's disgrace
The little deaths' final breaths
Would saunter back your road
Careening in your lids,
And slinging in your nape
And in the clear dermis of the sky
The moon would transpire
Ominously devouring the sun
Inveigling for the dark, the cold
The company of the warm
Embrace of the fire
That only shines
In the
Stark of dark.

poem by Norman Santos
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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