Behind closed doors,
the creeper peaks.
The skunks stripe,
begins to streak.
A fowl minded man,
declares peace.
It is within these boundaries that justification flourishes.
People fly.
Animals meet.
The dye is sweet and brittle,
but the touch is slightly fragile.
A brown, cow, turns upside down.
A black, bat, evokes heart attack.
This melancholy frown,
the sweetest touch,
a pear gone rotten,
is only the beginning.
If you temp it,
we will eat.
If you taunt it,
we will sleep.
As soon as you turn your back from dreamers cowl,
the moonbeams swallow your memories and feast on your smile.
Today will not belong to the night,
but instead be dedicated to the darkness inside everyone.
The fear,
lust,
combust,
of a troublesome loves first bite.
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