Immeasurably Displeased.

The whispers you sent,
along the late jet-stream,
the ones you inserted,
into my softest lining,
in the crisp bite of twilight,
that envelopes my dreams,
there you came and stood,
intentions anything but good,
condescending,
misrepresenting,
pretending to understand things;
things sacred to me,
and my life’s memories,
always the sweetest,
bite of something,
that stays for days,
to rot your back teeth,
same as you have come to do,
to the tick in this very heartbeat,
mis-measured,
ill-pleasured,
and immeasurably displeased.

6 thoughts on “Immeasurably Displeased.

  1. Astounding poem.

  2. Digging it. Deep, deep, deep 👏👏👏