NudeA Poem by Dalton
A track of terpene reeks
in the frantic air. An aroma of acetone speaks from the wood stripped bare. This solvent serenity denudes our deciduous despair. The caustic calm baptises our romantic affair. These two licks of lumber may be lineal, if only they dare. Our ethanol euphoria is but a conduit towards repair. Planks of pleasure pine cure in the kiln's sweet air. All the orange oil evaporates; only our good grain is spare. You grasp my growth rings and where my fibres untried. We reclaim our kindling from those fires that died. I admire your spirals and where your knots reside. I cherish all your fiddlebacks which use to hide. © 2016 DaltonFeatured Review
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