The ancient threads which curl and weave
From brain to restless heart
Beware the flesh that's so naive
Of fresh and painful start.
This piece of flesh convulsing in
A paroxysm of joy
Forgot the Reason in its spin
With nothing to destroy.
In absurd dance of trembling nerves
It blisses and trainspotts.
You know, for such obsessive verve
There are no antidotes.
I yearn, I pine, I crave, I burn,
I ache, I starve, I lust.
That keeps my soul made of fern
In general disgust.
The more you give, the more it wants,
This beast of flesh and blood.
It prays, it howls, it stalks, it haunts
And beats with deafening thud.
You tame the beast and feed it well
So it's asleep for now,
But once you try to say farewell
It will explode somehow.
Paroxysm of joy
© Copyright: Ольга Мартынович, 2015
Свидетельство о публикации №115022601117
Свидетельство о публикации №115022601117
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