The Theatre Of Sin

A thunderous theatre of sin,

Where all the luscious kisses begin.

Torrid twisted corridors…

Exhorted ecstasy on all floors.

 

A rolling dance of soft, supple flesh,

Of steam rising from lovers’ breath.

Swirling beams illuminate the mass,

Mirrors share caresses in the black.

 

Fingers slope inward seeking succour,

Bodies flirt and defy with sweet rancour.

A circus of sex and a spectacle of pleasure,

Go inside and find the tempted treasure.

 

A sepulchre of the dizzy, dancing dead,

The light has not forsaken these golden heads,

A myriad of soft lips in corsets and feathers,

Slender obscure men dripping in leather.

 

Welcome to the doomsday ball!

Hark! Come one, come all!

We can satisfy the hunger,

Of tearing desire asunder!

© K.N.Liddington

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Grenfell Tower / Our Saddest Hour

Nothing can express the pain, the shock, the sorrow,

That so many loved ones, will not see tomorrow.

Yet, too, there is overwhelming gratitude and pride,

In the heroism of those who braved the hell inside.

There is beauty in London’s outpouring of love and unity,

A coming-together for the victims of our community.

On a makeshift wall lies poignant commemoration,

Flowers and cards lay at the feet of devastation.

What now?

Now, there must be a decisive reckoning –

Cry a rage for change that’s deafening!

No more can they neglect to protect the poor,

We demand and must have so much more.

            © K.N.Liddington