//Silver-Spoon Cradles — 28022019

bewildered inklings

trifled instincts

submerse in horror

take back the widow

she longs for closure

significant proposals

lying in sunshine

breathing retrieval

cuckolding survival

hoping for a combat

to feel pain

to be real

morbidly surreal

sheltering under swindling canopies

trying to root in

like jaws below teeth

to kill in grief

to take what is real

scampering bars

poured across sultry highlands

from here to afar

i’ve got palm trees in my foresight

swerving above shaky ground

tall towers signalling ghosts in their hideouts

tilted tides

across my eyes

there aren’t always going to be truths

behind every lie

fins evolve too

adjusting to a milder winter

one that’s not as cold - as desolate and dark

silver-spoon cradles waving goodbye

it’s better to die while the tide’s still high