Friday, November 21, 2014

A Poem by James A. Wilkinson


I can't escape the echoes.
The lingering trace of a stolen kiss
That once melted me away to nothing.
Memories of bodies pressed together tightly till fully melded.
I see her black beetle eyes, deeper than forever,
Hypnotically drawing me back into her orbit.
Things are surely destined to crash and burn once more.
But the choice isn't mine to make,
For my mind is no longer my own.
The emerald wasp has pricked me deep.
And I surrender gladly.

James A. Wilkinson hails from the North East of England.  His focus is on acting as a kind of librarian to his past.  Trying to rationalize the chaos.

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