The Guest Room

Through lost highways, and study failures,
And an ascending burning bridge ‘tween.
In this confinement of voyeur walls,
her beauty was lost, my beast was found.

Picture her spine, and picture my tongue,
like a canvas and a crayon.
Drilling pagan tattoos in our minds,
the art of indifferent love making.

Undress an arbitrary body.
Unleash the sick feeling of unrest.
To live down a past broken romance,
to choke on the feeling of succumb.

In company of an accomplice,
evenings are horridly beautiful.

(The 4th sonnet from a collection of five titles 'Rooms')

-Shaxeb S.