Frankenstrong

It's a strange sort of overcast
Foreboding feels like my last
Sit and sort the furnishings
Fort made of my ligatures
Subtle signs and signatures
Didg-ing more to sleep better
Your denial lingers here.

What could plans have made of us?
Past, tense, jawing, gratiatus
No ambushes, hear me thus;
I want you I'm made of dust-
Call direct, don't make a fuss.

My love, the depth of which is certain
Unknown, and made to draw a curtain;
still holds a passion and a flicker
though you continue to grow sicker.

Giving up. I'm moving now
Holding up, somehow.

Tornado, get along.


http://soundcloud.com/brightsparklymess/frankenstrong

(c) Maria Enns 2012