A Taste for Sorrow

In this room are all the things I want
But can not have
cigarettes and cigars
anything with cholesterol
Sausage for breakfast
And thick juicy steaks
I mean char-grilled
smothered in . . .
Why do I come to the room every time
And never enter
Fear I
Death so much?

Published by

Chyfrin the Celtic poet

Artist, Poet, Electrical/Biomedical Engineer, Actor, Playwright, Set construction, Educator, Lover of womankind and single malt scotch

4 thoughts on “A Taste for Sorrow”

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