A Turbulent night
Serpents in lairs of gold and white.
From triffle to murderous rage
bent on repeating itself.
A rapture so statuesque,
Supple, yet ordinary.
Remnance of a lost girl,
Hitless in her own bonds
in which numerical logic
Is rendered useless.
A medal, a titan of proportions
To receive an evening of lateness
As sure as the yellow of the sun
can hand out.
A multitude of vain foursomes
Grazing within fields of pleasure.
Green as the start of the day...
Listening to music and consuming coffee
As the iron melts the posture
Of the past turbulent night.