The temperamental moodiness of your palisade had breached it conduct of character where the standard norms fall into a conundrum of fallacies.
So stern are your waters boiling deep in your tomb for festering this treading mountain; the lion roars before striking down its prey.
He tears a mongoose apart with his claws, causing melancholy to breed.
Where is the embossed flute you used to entice with your caresses?
Perhaps it was stolen by mongrels. along with your prayer sticks.
I can’t continue to dance to the same music day in and day out. I need to stir my flow with a zest burning through my core.
© Copyright, Kiki Stamatiou, 2016