Cappuccino Sunset
Volcanoes rise on the red check
chessboard of life entrenched
in the hopelessness of romance.
Lava lamp pieces manipulated
to check then mate,
a burning desire to copulate,
ejaculate,
physically communicate.
Below the insubstantial surface froth,
bitter black fluid
inadequately tempered by brown sugar grains
seeps into our hearts, our brains.
It matters not an atom
when the sun sinks down
spreading sweeping crimson shadows
across the map of the human heart.
God is old hat, reclined on a
celestial candy-striped deckchair,
sadistic and out of touch.
The truth,
what truth is that?
Is it feasible, is it possible
to love and want love
too much?
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