Twisters

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Docimacy sounded so exotic, a magic unheard of outside the University walls.

He sat, testing the stones.

They had no answers.

He praised her “uberty,” and “deliciously infundibular body.”

And still her mother expected her to marry the Reverend, that oaf!

Another dawn rose above this town long-damned, a town called Perdida.

She lay, a broken marionette, salubrious to my damaged soul.

A brief viand to greet the washed-out dawn, a hollow goodbye echoes, ignored by dormant streets.

He strains, remembering a happier past. 

Sleep came, a gilded nepenthe, a surrender into blissful tranquillity.

Until morning brought with it guilt’s bitter embrace.

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