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sibilance

my green straw Mats were washed to sea
out from under me.
unconceiving wit suckling cordials dredged in christmas Wine
(so sweet, so strong)
astriding grit, i sat.
drunk on port red Trust
i did not hear boracic centers reach their impetus
like chocolate kisses liquifine, that hiss
would be my innards' last real stimulus.


(corrosive junk so hot, so wrong:
His tide, your Wine, forgot
then gone.)

© 22 October 2006, Sugarpie Rabbit
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In the Face of Love: The Book of the Beloved
SPR © 14 February 2007, Sugarpie Rabbit