4-Track Demons We’ll never let love complicate our situation. Integrity compromised infects imagination. Last refuge of the uncreative, rationality seems a prison when love’s wanted and freely given. Haunted, loss looming like tape un-wheeled from cassettes characterizes our conversation. Something once desired blushes, bled since beyond reparation. Somehow, simple glances sharpen focus; sun washes off oceans of emotion. Polaroid skies fill the hole our void left, needing to cry. Share:ShareClick to email this to a friend (Opens in new window)Click to share on Facebook (Opens in new window)Click to share on LinkedIn (Opens in new window)Click to share on Pinterest (Opens in new window)Click to share on Pocket (Opens in new window)Click to print (Opens in new window)Click to share on Reddit (Opens in new window)Click to share on Skype (Opens in new window)Click to share on Telegram (Opens in new window)Click to share on Tumblr (Opens in new window)Click to share on Twitter (Opens in new window)Click to share on WhatsApp (Opens in new window) Related August 20, 2014 Categories: Poetry