I rule with an iron kiss.
My rock gives water if you know how to speak,
But it is sick of waiting for its boldly mumbling sugarcrat.
Strike my rock and the water comes easily,
A simpler task made explicit
With everything but a bitching sphinx.
I wrote instructions on my desert body,
A dish best served cold.

This entry was posted on Thursday, November 15th, 2012 at 7:53 pm and is filed under Rags of Light (poetry). You can follow any responses to this entry through the RSS 2.0 feed. You can leave a response, or trackback from your own site.