The Poetry of Mark Daniel Milbocker 
As I Softly Burn

I am the pencil dancing upon its tip
just as easily bending to the
polyphany of this temporal winepress
creaking with every turn of its universioning
in this faint atmosphere round its crust
I am but a metamorphism of lees and less 
stable states, fallen to a humble orbital
but a momentary confluence of moonbeams
thrice plucked into silence 
my wetness waning to our somnolent crescence
I wait for the osculation of the now
gently brushing away the sinterings
of your sculpting diamantations 
let flow the pearlescent shimmering of
the splattering of linseeden ochres
awash in the azure and ultramarine
spiralled by your pinkie toe
as I your narcissus gaze into 
your Medusal mentations and 
become petric at your pulchritude.
■





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