Mark Heathcote

(22/03/66 / Manchester)

Like a moth in a bell-jar


I feel I’m in a pollen lily wave
Heady with trembling allusions touching
In a darkened bed reaching
Beneath satin sheets he depraves me.

I’m suffocating dripping with dew
Heavenly he knows me too…
Deep down; he takes root
Spiralling…

Like a moth in a bell-jar
He smothers all my cries ever longing
To cry out!
Ever longing I must cling on.

Submitted: Saturday, February 15, 2014
Edited: Saturday, February 15, 2014

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