Wordle #29 Sciamachy

Week 29

A limping one man theatre

Eyes burnished copper

Patient in their stare

Predators each one

And each with their own target

One watches my breasts

Sinuous on the waves

Of my stampeding breath

The other, the exit

Which rests vulnerable, ajar

Mouth an ancestral fountain

Rabid with drivel

Vacillating over promises

Wept in platinum

Both engaged in scimachy

Head full of mirrors

We swat our hands

At invisible nemeses

Hoping for a conclusion

Less tawdry

Than the initiation