Obscene

Late Spring's revelries have filled my hollow head to overflowing

Battering my wild soul with the sweet temptations of submission

I have woven you from fallen sticks and sodden mud

Acorn eyes gaze blindly before this obscene architect

My beloved creation, I can never be free of you

Neither will you accept the torch of my burning soul.

Creator and creation rise forth from the same root

This golden flower net of sweet aching is inescapable

I am but a common thrall in the dirty lands of beast and herb

No  pure white requests written in fine script upon your page

These are spattered blank ink cravings to stain every tome upon your shelf

Drunk with the evening scents sent forth upon the midnight breezes

I wander the fecund landscape sightless this fire-lit night

I collapse breathlessly into the arms of the blue waxing moon

 - Chris Getz