time

by kholinar

ice,
a lake bed surrounding…
and my shoulders impounded
‘neath the hard mud

but my fingers breach
through the sweet side of sooner-or-later
and the joy un-released
twists me like the outskirts
of a rotund spinster reminiscing
of her light, pink-slipper days

The slow upsurge strains me wholly…
spits me out like steaming geysers
to a land of sucking ticks
and long, bony hands always stretching
to swing a pendulum, so sharp and cunning that
it cuts me twelve-sided

… and when I’m bled
my skin seems covered with tiny kisses
while lithe hands on shapely arms caress me
and if I’m cut it’s only what I bare
as I repose in my cool lake bed languor

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