Will Not Be Denied

by Philip F De Pinto

From the bottom staircase of my gaze
You rise dejectedly like a child
Dispatched to her room without supper

Slowly with your head pointedly down
You make your way to the top
And the upper register of my heart tumbles to the ground

Like a poorly mounted third scoop of ice cream
From its sugar cone which you politely
Pick up and restore to its upper register

Afterwards you lick your creamy fingers
Which is to say that a child may be
Dispatched to her room without sup
But will not be denied her sweet desert


Posted on 09/15/2014
Copyright © 2022 Philip F De Pinto

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