I often
get lost
in your
canvas
p a l a c e
My hands
all dirty
with
old
p a i n t
What’s the colour
of your
dreams?
I d a r e
a s k
Yet you
never
utter
a single
w o r d
So I strive to
find my
answer
in ink
s k e t c h e s
*
I often
get lost
in your
canvas
p a l a c e
My hands
all dirty
with
old
p a i n t
What’s the colour
of your
dreams?
I d a r e
a s k
Those
undecipherable
ink
s
t
r
o
k
e
s
Paint
pirouettes
that won't
tell any
t a l e s
*
My dreams
are
sometimes
coloured
y e l l o w
— with
a
dash
of
b l u e —
Your eyes closed,
while I get lost
in the true opacity
of those abstract
i m a g e s
So I let
all shades sink in—
colouring your reverie
back to
r e a l i t y
Blue-blood poet
cold at heart
large,
your ego,
this swell night,
She’s a tourist
in wild dreams
of word orgies
blood verse
streams,
Both,
crossed lovers
madness feigned,
vintage statues
They remained
Wordplay
artists,
starry
nights,
warm-blood poet—
S t a y
t h e
n i g h t
New seas she sails
with wet, wet eyes
cold, purple lips
a wild, wild heart
A fighting mind
one fateful tune
one fresh start
a blinding light
New poems read
with tired eyes
a stunning feat
those rhyming lines
Warm, purple ink
a healing heart
she will, one day,
recover might
A writing sword
on stormy fields
she will in dreams
all battles fight
And conquer will
those seas she sails
those dry, dry lines
a fighting mind
She starts to sail
she longs to write -
new poems, wild,
they will take flight
New seas she sails
a bright new night
with drier eyes
h e r
s o l o
w r i t e s
with his
singers
and
dancers
she could
not
c o m p e t e
as she had only
killer words
to offer—
to be
licked and
s a v o u r e d
dark
chocolate
bites
for lyrically
sophisticated
t a s t e b u d s
he now wished
he’d gotten an earlier
taste—but was
already perishing
with languid
b r e a t h
just as he’d
swallowed
the very last
lyrical mouthful
of her poisoned
s t a n z a
for she only had
killer words
to offer—
to be
licked and
s a v o u r e d
dark chocolate
dessert for
his sweet
and sultry
cabaret
s o i r é e
D
r D
u r
m u
m ,
little women's army
splatter walls—
dressed in
war face
p a i n t
magic hands
can turn out
wonders,
now they're sleeping—
shan't be
awoken
y e t
close
the shutters,
no light
streaming—
they deserve
a darkened
dreaming
b e dD
r D
u r
m u
m ,
little women's army—
splatter walls
dressed in
war face
p a i n t
you plucked
out
too many
of my
cyan-tinted
f e a t h e r s
while
modelling
me into a
stuffed
poetic
b i r d
wings
got too
heavy with
your lyrically
infused
f e a r s
so i couldn’t
fly away
from your
collector’s
palace—
y e t
until tonight—
when i
slide out
of this darkened
room of
n i g h t m a r e s
leaving you behind,
sleeping,
in your
tortuous,
silent,
o d d
r h y m e d
b e d
b u r n i n g
b r i d g e s
h o l d i n g g r u d g es
f l o w e r s
w i t h e r
w e a k e n e d s t a r s
s i l e n t
p a c e s
w o r d s w i t h f i g m e n t s
o f
v o i c e
p e t a l s
f o g r
g h y y m
e
s
dissuading fears
like there’s
no
t
o
m
o
r
r
o
w
assuaging
nuages—
those dreams
u
n
f
o
l
d
contorting
smiles
unseen to
td h
a g
y i
l
there’s no
room
left for
dreams
of
O LG D
i stop
feeding
your brain's
licking
w o r d
o b s e s s i o n
deliberately
discarding
this needless
w i s h
f o r v e r s e
trying to
become
r h y m e
a v e r s e
draining
the room’s
letter
h i d d e n
c h e s t
yet, while
averse,
i still
s p e a k ,
i n v e r s e
so I
do me
and
y o u
d o y o u
so
very
word
l i c k e r
y o u
lil’
v
a
e m
r p
s i
r
e
those true
identities
w e c a m e t o
i n h a b i t
yet only
lived
i n l i t e r a r y
w o r l d s
unwritten
stories
of our
t r u e
d e s i r e s
in rhyme
embellished
nice pace,
s w i f t
w o r d s
identity-
empty
f i c t i o n a l ,
i m a g i n e d
lyrically
beautiful,
ghostly,
s a v a g e d ,
f o r c e d
those true
identities
w e c a m e t o
i n h a b i t
yet only
glimpsed
through
d a r k
t h i c k
s m o k e
LannaZee 