Thursday, January 7, 2010

Knotting Pits

Do you remember that night we danced
My daemon and your conscience
That gray stained irate moon glanced
It was no surprise that he was angry at our delight
His glare almost stopped us from embracing
But we knew something he knew not
My daemons and your conscious took hands
Your conscious touched my daemons back
My Daemon clutched hands around your neck
Swaying to that beat of contentment
The beat was slow and seductive
You were a little shy never meeting my eyes
I a little abrupt only staring at them
They were large, doe like
Right before the blaring light of death
We were there to kill time, life and maybe ourselves
But you didn’t admit it I can tell though
Did you know, that I knew?
You smelled of it, you reeked of it.
I tried to turn away from it
But it engulfed me and seduced me
It smelled of warmed bread and Sunday mornings
It smelled of spring trees and old books
Your hands around my daemon back got tighter
My daemon, a little inebriated, from the smell
Slowly unclenched his hands
Never stopping from swaying to that beat.

Hamdi Ahmed
Copyright ©2010

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