Twenty Four Hour Embrace (rev)

Awakening in the twenty four hour embrace
of a few moments sleep where half a lifetime
eludes dreams; feeling you were cheated by
wages of too much gin and lack of sleep
in these unconsummated fumblings.

Reunions of this passion seem so jarringly
deranged, do we feed self-interests which
allay its mutuality? To cling together is
amorphous death when coursing blood is
killed by footsteps echoed in the hall.

Guilt's malignancy stalks a gas-lit shadow-dance
upon the walls, perversity arouses oestrus
in the embers of our trance; magic moments
muted in taut breath are crushed in weighted
consequence, discretion flees the night to
heighten senses steeped in self-pity,
drowned in self-indulgence.

This trauma is a scene where players
claim immunity from plight by plea of
actors licence. The effect is candid apathy –
not abandonment to passion's flight.
© 12 September 1972, I.D. Carswell