The dispossession

    There I left you hung like a dried ghost. You came to when
It was cold enough. You were fed berries, kept flustered and
    Well composed like an unfinished verse. You tuned to words
Of profound lust. I never could tell the difference between
    Hunger and lure. Oh you wanton, you conversible slut. You
Would have me whisper in your ear your favourite sequence: a
    Password waiting to be broken with ampersand and asterisk
As I punched out with my fingers your name with ample exclamation!

Dale Chou
2012-12-04