Contrite when I'm riveted -
as of late, the light has been limited
But this one goes out to blank stares that found this title derivitive
As in her 'biological clock'
it seems the hour wand is patient
Whilst her short-tempered bursts work
& devour connotations
With famished variety
her horns have damaged the sides of me
But the horns are non-existant when posed on the lamb of society
She sleeps and grazes -
in her eyes, a timid desire feeds
The inferno:
one that serves as the most prodigious of ironies
As we pass, her stare deploys a scent
that snatches cares devoid of men
Writing this sorrowful piece, I was amassing paranoia then. . .
It hit me like that -
& in hectic scorn I acted. .
For the initial impact was reminiscent of a wreck in morning traffic
I was the man on his job
Now I could withstand the collage
That clouded minds without their spines - I had my hand on the knob
Thinking on the run,
I neither condone nor applaud it
For I surrounded myself in shelter;
that is, alone in the closet. .
& gays are frowned upon?
Think about it, folks.

Q u a l i t y, the

__________________