...written as though by Mr. Sark...
Crimson, the color of sanguinity
staining yellow suit
(a coward's hue)--As
the melancholera in my heart
did urge me on to stew
you, my Love, down to basest parts.
You (my Love),
caught where you did not belong
as always creeping in to every thought
as acid burns through skin.
I longed to keep you there,
penned, trapped, mewed up in pain,
to watch your defenses peel back
even as your unnanounced
presence dis-robes mine,
repeatedly laying bare--and most unkind,
this black, bilious pump, my heart,
Exposed, crippled by you, and amazed.
And so I wish to have the same effect,
to see you boil, burn and hurt,
As does this my form, this man whom you despise
each time he's caught within your eyes.
Disclaimer:This work is not affiliated in any way with the ABC spy series Alias, or, for that matter, Mr. Sark, whose poetry--until such time as he wishes to make it public--remains unsung, unfeted, and largely unknown.
by: Neftzer 2003 (c)
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From my website, Mr. Sark Writes Loves Poetry royaltoby.com / alias / sark.html