Wordle #174

174

I follow the line of deformations,

The candle’s primitive rebirth,

The undulating asylum of gray.

Fugitive silhouettes spill

Over my transgressions.

I fold myself, tears searing

As they inch their way

Down my unsigned letters.

I pluck an orange from behind

An African mask’s demonstrative frown.

The pockmarked peel a rite of passage.

I question my own consistency,

The grandness of my envelopments

Are they enough to keep

The demimonde sidetracked?

My sexuality, so inconsistent

With my righteousness

My dry, albino skin, like

The sleeve of a newly

Released serpent

Too much purity

Will rot the heart

And who could endure

A life in absentia?

A life without sensuality?

A life without communion?

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23 responses to “Wordle #174

  1. Pingback: ACROSS THE COURTYARD (for MindLoveMisery–Wordle 174) | Dim Scribbles Diary·

  2. Well, hopefully love goes beyond the physical. It is an important aspect of love, but also desires need temperence if love is involved so …

  3. “The candle’s primitive rebirth”
    “The grandness of my envelopments”

    I love those lines.

    And I think sometimes communion is overrated. You feel bad about yourself; that’s the problem.

    Words like “pockmarked” and “albino” make it obvious that you struggle with feeling self-worth, probably outside and in. But the beauty is hiding behind that frown. Nothing is more beautiful or sensual than a smile. Especially if dimples and ridiculous laughter are involved.

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