A Better Man

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;