Dragonfly

                                    Diaphanous and iridescent wings carry me
                                    Rapidly, high and low, or leisurely
                                    Across realms of suave poesy and
                                    Ghastly, all too pestilent despair.
                                    Oh, my spindly, brilliant body does mend
                                    Neatly my anil icon of brittle life affair!
                                    Flying my time away, with giddy impulse,
                                    Lullabies of others I filter in my tumid glare.
                                    Yours is saddest when I kiss your palm’s pulse.

                                                                                                                                                    P.S. A writer’s pen-holding palm is the fountain of their mutable oeuvre. A human’s heart-side palm is the betrayer of their tormented pulse.

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