Treasure Island

Mark Heathcote

(22/03/66 / Manchester)

Two over lapping uncivilized sheets of ice


As moon light curdles with the street light
Eyelids bat like they wanted some of that
She fills her lungs drains his red blood cells
What a calling this is by the privet roadside
Eyes blinking - all fireflies’ thrown aback
Hearts beating close to a heart, attack.
They’ll know now to never look back.
Curdled in the moonlight,
With their cheesecloth souls half eaten like linin
They’ll touch each other’s greasy damp skin
Without the limits to ever - hold lust back.
As a wind harps, fallen leaves fish in puddles
With misshaped dreams their footsteps splash.
Disillusion, has yet to take its rightful place
Their yet to feel the cut of hurt in their disgrace
Like two over lapping, uncivilized, sheets of ice.

Submitted: Saturday, February 15, 2014
Edited: Sunday, February 16, 2014

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