As If by Gary Priest

in the corridor of a cheap hotel
walls of peeling rorschach blots and grey carpets
scrubbed clean with pine-scented ennui
we kissed as if we were in a field of sunflowers
beneath a sky of outrageous stars
in the middle of a lunar eclipse

in the room we rented for the night
a standard magnolia level of hell
for suicidal sales executives
we touched as if we were composed of porcelain
and brimstone
delicate and bedevilled
naked, lost and lunatic

in the bed worn thin by the repetition
of restless dreams of sex and death
both threadbare as badly laundered linen
we loved as if newly minted from Eden’s clay
far removed from the serpentine
urge to complicate sin

in the night wrought with the darkest
of pleasures that we dare not indulge in
for fear of not returning to the safety of the light
we belonged as if forged from the shadows themselves
lovers swathed in abandon
and the glory of excess

Gary Priest
Gary Priest



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