Shadow-Double

Manipulation in bold schemes of umbra
desires the retreat beneath
straddled souls,
salty women of old,
grand in their hips that mark the dirty floor.

Finds myself breaking into boudoirs
mildly to keep a straight face
into the waste
of mirror time;
the world left meager exhausted by its counterpart.

A Dustbowl mighty and incomplete
cannot feel through its shadows,
as I sense to your need,
as I shout to your breed-
how much of your body is theft to me.

~ M. Lucia