Wednesday, 4 January 2017

DISGORGE

The trunk was still and the log was bare,
looking at its southward peripheral chunk,
fantasising about bright petals in a vacant stare,
as the air filled with temptation's funk.

An insatiable thirst for pollen soon overcame him,
as his leaves began to rustle against his device.
A protrusion was born from this sinful whim,
strong and solid like the arctic ice.

Diligent and brisk strokes were delivered to his bole,
and aurora burst forth from the cortex.
A great force bellowed from within this pole,
and a tempestuous tide broke through the fortress.

The closing zipper symbolised the end of this battle,
with the paper in the can bearing his mule's saddle.

Adesina Aanuoluwapo John - 2017

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