Yarborough

Yarborough

 A shimmer darkness falls over my pall,
 with a scintilla of ink my last breath call,
 'fore the spade diggers lay me final sleep
 and my shrill thralls forever coffin deep.

 

 Gone are the lips that caressed my fess,
 kissing shadows of my pantomime host,
 as your soft breath eased my pain,
 lost in words with erotic stain.

 

 A simmering thigh cast an eye,
 drawing last hand of a Yarborough,
 discarding my sinful boast,
 last words of a poetic ghost.

 

 On the shoals of forgotten tides,
 a shimmer darkness falls over my pall
 like a stone cold of old bones,
 saving prose for my final rest.

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