My worse vice-

Became my most satisfying

The bitter – sweet always interchanging

And no matter which one I use

From my myriad of pallet standards

Each one- she’d rein

Tip of my tongue

Tease of my feelings

My desires, dreams

My unfinished utters

Every nuance of my being

Colored by her essence

But now- she is gone- left

And I’ve become nearly empty

Now she only reins what…haunts me


Poet of the Light © 2018



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