false

No you can't get to me
Freudian blackholes which i gaze
everynight,sitting under the skies
of mortar and shadowy lights

No you can't get to me.
Even if you might,amidst
the rubble of the ashen remains
waits the resounding hollowness

of love spinning velveteen dreams
silken,luxuriant like a soft lullaby
and the warm lips of a seductress hinting
a touch of wine a shade of blood,

and the iron grip which Mother Mary
had on baby Jesus.
But you still can't get me
No you won't.

An insufferable sigh passes the wickedness
of the night into nothingness
and lying awake in the aftermath
are the eyes of someone who
still clings to the notion that
they can't get him.

They won't.Won't they?