Thoughts of a dying humourist

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Monday, February 20, 2006

Where the world is cataclysmic in its drunken stupor
And tripping on its own laces of substance
These two find faked sanctity in each others arms

Reason makes a hesitant lullaby
So they abandon its clawing
But still unrested as they know that the love they share
Is as skewed as their vision

In the morning
Recollection settles
The covers of the bed is still unmade
The minds still unmade

Just that one night
Is all.

Anni
11:56
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