Crossing the Chasm

The eggs of quails, like Bedouin’s creamy cold peals
Roll the turning tongue’s treasure of twirled Burgundy
Feeding the absent senses of a kindled light perpetual
In a Southern night of toothless soothsayer’s prophesies
Of an open fingered outstretched withered hand
That will sooth life’s bended brow of a troubled ending
Crossing the chasm of spilt wine and fumbled pearls



Harry Mills
Apt A10 English Bakery Boracay Philippines
28h September 2012
From : The Departure Lounge