Terminal Moraine

between passages of
subterranean calamities
sits a sibyl,
her voice,
a large cascading thing,
every inch of you
in her swelling voice
she reverts to harmony
usurping your words
to invent rhymes and stories
the tune is thin,
unclear and strange,
of unrecognizable scales,
there is no orderliness
it wounds and wounds,
a wire spiraling into abyss,
this is what she wishes,
to be formless
like this tune, wayward
no one to predict her;
no one to form her
the author of the duet
is grafted on her lace
the moment she is free
she would tear it off
from then on
she is all impulse.

Note : These two duets are the parts of a prompt session me and a blogger pal were having, wherein he started with Duet I and rounded off with Duet V. I wrote Duet II ( of hate - the previous post) and Duet IV ( continues - the current post) of this series.

I like this more than the previous duet 'coz I wrote this in one hour. One of the quickest stuff I ever wrote!