Photo by Mick Haupt on Unsplash

Victorian Obsession

You choose to stay

for this absurd conversation

Your dream, my dream

It doesn’t matter

You’re a prisoner inside the Night’s velvet mouth

and God knows where she will spit you

In which excuse of a place

you’ll find a way to be far

on whose bed you’ll wake up

ticking another box for all the things I don’t know

So I’m writing down the words I said

in case you forgot them the morning after

Mine is pure adoration

till the end of time

or till I get tired

Whichever comes first

Whether it’s Bukowsky or fuckin’ Baudelaire

Writing is just a reflex.

-SouthpawPoet