Treasure Island

Mark Heathcote

(22/03/66 / Manchester)

To find an arrows pinpoint of weakness…


Love cuts through, cowardly, courage.
To find an arrows pinpoint of weakness…
Where it can draw drops of crimson blood
Eking out its Sires;
Bow-wielding warrior’s emptiness...
The taste of which burns; florescent.
With a numbing, pain against their lips.
A bull’s-eye dagger plucks a fondant-
Heart; kisses duel like two warring ships.
Love is a victim of courage and disgrace
Too shallow at times to be a lived in face
Its nonchalance sings like a nightingale!
Derision begs always the wind in its sail.
Love takes a lemon and makes lemonade
Love is a big old hurricane. It lifts…
And somehow levitates everything staid,
Skywards like a cannonball, in magical rifts...

Submitted: Monday, July 29, 2013
Edited: Tuesday, July 30, 2013
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