Touch Upon The Shoulder Of My Fears

A love was born on Hallows Eve
A love that did naught but ignite the teasing of the girl
For whom I had longed to please for so long yet had never found the opportunity
Nor had I ever been granted access to slip between the thighs of a girl
Within whose eyes I was so sure I would find skies painted a deeper blue.

She remembers not offering up her self to me freely
Asking me to take her in my arms whilst in the next room awaited the girl
To whom one kiss would do the most harm. She awaited whilst I conversed
With what seemed alike the ghost of ancient loves incarnate.

Now in offering yourself to my taking I am naught but making concrete
The mould of my setting – In doing so I am perhaps forgetting the longing I have known – but know that faithfully I belong to the girl who knows nothing of the arrangement of souls I find myself within. In turning away from the offering of the girl for whom I had shed tears for many years – I saw death touch upon the shoulder of my fears and lead them by there ears away, beckoning he came reckoning with the judgement of the hourglass as his only sense of duty.

by David Lacey

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