Poetry

There was no colour in the nude 
and skin deep fire was raging 
not leaving much of a trail. 
 
A Janus cat, 
that is our man of polity 
with two faces. 
 
Walking alone at midnight, 
that is larger than life, on 
death of a galaxy, where - 
 
the crack of dawn meets 
dandelion to decide the course 
of bloody day. They were - 
 
coming in huge lots to kneel 
and kiss the hands of their master, 
who will leave his signature - 
 
in deep cleavage. Who was 
guarding the doorway to 
my sleep?