LightLeak

The flooded tiles are thankfully cold
Caustic, glossed and cleansed.
The wiser speaks a kindred celt
yet chokes a magnet to a tree.
How is it that I do pay tribute to composition
then morph into a puddle ‘neath a skyscraper-
Donning glasses side a flute of wine
Clenching gold in my fists
Crafting movement on mute;
Whilst crooning best as birds-
How then, is it aimed- a fondness
Is faux, in flight I’ve slipped and knelt
In synapse withered salted wet-
Define a citrus mood with pleasure-
Our
slumber seldom meets the dawn; nor should it
For sleep only signs a blank mind in awe.
They’ve proven from crib to crane, chosen struggles.
You, a wretched pool of muse
Leak above my daily cup of coffee.
It’s impossible to elude you.
Those queries do shine
I strip lips to pores, then inch the ledge.
Those fifty foot walls quench my thrill;
I’ve startled, knocked, wedged and frozen.
Awaiting a sign of soul to key;
access is bent.
A selfish illusion can stress a fraction
Critically;
Bent.