The rhyme ensued
on scraping tongues
that played the bells
as the heavens hung

with slouching shoulders
revealing grace
the trail of tears
creaming down her face

continues down
and parts her lips
as the vermouth loosens
nervous hips.

The signal flashing
with train off track
I've been derailed
to this abstentious sack

that encases organs
and protrusions alike.
It is this hell
which impedes my stride.

I pay avoidance to
the one I'm with
she's no Heather
she's my stitch

that keeps me fastened
to this fat chair
as the calories collect
like dust busting cat hair.

Yet, the Heathers wait
in golden fields
with sulking eyeliners
and crimson shields

as they're patient for it
they grow quite bored
of the same mundane
they cut the cord

as life turns loose
so doth their shields
and they are plucked
from the golden fields.

Insignificant now
they've been so touched
their mystique has gone
from luscious to lush.

Still here I sit
encased in glue
dreaming of eyelids
and sliding vermouth

that will never leave me
nor land on her
as my hardened encasement
softens to a blur.

I stumble first
then walk without yield
at last I've reached
the golden fields

and there she waits
the last one of the bunch
I begin to judge her
luscious or lush?

I catch a glimpse
as she turns around
only to find
she's the same one I'd found.

My stitch, my fat chair
padded leather and bound
she's my encasement
in a crimson gown

that haunts my shadow
and loves the me beneath me
the face I'm escaping
is the one that needs me.

I've decided she's neither
luscious or lush
you're just the one I'm stuck with
my compliments to your clutch.

02/10/2014