The sin of Pride

Somewhat abides in infantile minds – the sin of pride

Somewhere after dinner, jam-plastered mouths

Lolloping a lupine south

Soaks up, a concentric mask of kitchen cleaner.

Still a child, a brittle thickness stained

Unto Time

Rains a mess of chiding fists over every

Misdemeanour.

Proverbial verbs – thin hymns

You know the words

Actions – metaphorically warm, preferable

Nicety glitter. Tea later – chips

Something battered, still warm

And awaiting for its eater. Enchanted charms, a phial of spice beguiled

A Bitter-boil potato. A broiling blush

Coiled across wakeful touch – extinguished

The fire of my soprano. Feminine grace

Now tumultuous train, fills a space

Wasted with wine and ouzo. Its Spilling fame

And fortunes name – results you say, adorned,

Torn and frayed with my excuses.

A flip-flop falter like old breeze upon water

Turns our mind-sets puce, as dark as asphalt

Worms betrayal back down

A desperation derived only to drown

To hold you where I want you. Closer.

Brown envelopes taut, hands crossed bold

Enfolded noughts, our gaze elopes

And confounds the conspiring glimmer.

Gold. Ground down, at the back of my throat

A rage implodes at

Allowance of thirty minutes.

Still waiting – what is this? Home?

Almost in hurt your smile unfolds

Its paper crisp – illuminated incandescence

Bold books backed upon each shelf.

Love to us perhaps only a sigh, and the

Sin of pride looks not so lowly on myself.

I tied it up, kindling-box of final want

Throwing minds skimming the sky

Fingers find mine, put past behind

And lit the fire inside someone else

Tonight.