With a Topaz Claw

Ink, for macabre night

and ink, for the chilling noir 

ink for letters most contrite 

and ink, for a funeral's foyer. 

Grin and my chagrin my charnel is full, 

of names and places I'd rather not mull 

walking the street with the lamps overhanging

contemplating those moments I'll soon be forgetting 

All of it a sad romance to a less than pleasant past, 

affectionate in apathy, growing apart like enemies 

whom I always tried to bury- 

whose ties I'll cut with a topaz claw. 

And give a bouquet for every black mark, 

turn what was grotesque to fanciful art; 

We hold our private funerals for our dead memories 

lace them lovingly, and send them off into eternity.