Canvas, Soot, Umber
Canvas, Soot, Umber writing stories
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Canvas of coffee, the very flavor I crave to tasteLonging, my languid lips dare to quench a desert so drySoot, such soft ashes, but empty in my hands to harborWhen did the night slip so suddenly into silk?
By mildlyironick https://mildlyironick.tum...

Canvas, Soot, Umber

by mildlyironick

Canvas of coffee, the very flavor I crave to tasteLonging, my languid lips dare to quench a desert so drySoot, such soft ashes,

but empty in my hands to harborWhen did the night slip so suddenly into silk?

Umber, as of earth, stained glass windows; the soul’s windowThe soul’s window; intense is the stare of which they watchDo they watch me?

No, I think notI think not; the canvas, the soot, the umberThey do not belong to me; not now, not everOh, how I covet the beloved of inamorataInamorata, inamorata, you are beataBeata,

no, not Maria, but you inamorata; inamorata,Faceless,

nameless maiden only brings me future mayhemI will watch from my own window; the soul’s windowThe soul’s window; a candle’s wick not litThere is no light,

no candle or matches; just fearJust fear; has it always been so dark here? Here in this home?

No, not always; in this home, there once was lightThe canvas, the soot, the umber stole it; no kiss, just goodnight

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