Stench Of Fear

As we pole dance with the sedentary clouds,
And surf the fine linings of the velvet dress
We lose and topple in our mythical quest
To sate in licking the lacquer of Cyclops-faith,
As the sheen of lackluster pearls and bayonets
Interpolating a shrouded sensation to grate
And lace the neck of the ephemeral portrait
Browning in stale corsets and guzzles
We deem ourselves with the iron rustles
Clinking the desertification of sunsets.
What is left to gamble in this conquest?
To keep my heart in the pockets of silence
And breathe the migraine of the valiance
Exuded by the auspicious vapor and malignance
In a fandango with oblivious complacence.

poem by Norman Santos
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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