Secret thoughts are not like
Flighty dreams forgotten in
the forenoon. Intrusive, producing
images of fear, lust unspoken and
death impending. Falling into the timeless zone,
The chasm that absorbs lights of life.
From my enfeebled grip they slip seeking
comfort elsewhere and I’m left with the ghosts
of musty lust, stumbling in the mist of
vanishing life. No longer halo of rainbows she wears,
Doesn’t live inside a kaleidoscope anymore and
her fountain of youth tastes of acid.