no room have I
to bend beyond a time to second guess.
white chalk alone too dry
sends messages from a darker side
of source unknown through a ballad of a train;
songstress of hide and seek
of no domain
the back streets of the sun
somewhere about no tale had yet begun;
no angels cry
to sing asleep unbuttoned eyes
care-free as Venice
pushing hard her pregnant eyes
deep inside the pleasures of my deliberate disguise;
blisters on four metaphors
letters on this drab and dreary day
make way one last distraction,
the joys of disarray;
in my fox fur dark yet cheerful
buoys burn bright my waves of fond farewell.
no secrets shared
no crib to cradle arms of discontent
a scent as yet unheard of
nestles deep my purpose of reprieve;
who haunts my shadow now I sleep obscure?
the pure of simple thought
as pure as ample breast upon the canvass of a star;
how far am I
from the flames of corridors that walk as limp as snow?
no skin of bone as clumsy as my hands
that tremble through each morning on a touch.
of what I cannot touch I cannot harm
think of me tomorrow
a better man now loving only you;