I vaguely remember your face that afternoon
the linen cloth reflected through the room
the sweaty ebony; the tight wound strings, the tune
the long-forgotten song snipped from the loom
Bravo to you
a thousand paper hearts to you
my memory, a mantra, chants adieu
adieu
adieu, adieu, adieu.
What cosmic certainty fuels working hands?
What power tames the wilderness of time?
all lesser lives sift down like lesser sand
unfazed by tears; by music or by rhyme
You said -- I think you fit it to a tee --
our inner cups are filled with surging spirit;
our music wrings us out when others hear it
lover, you took a sip of me
And so I stoke my heart
with measuring spoons
my do-I's kept at bay by lacy Junes
by lifted veils and shallow drafts run dry --
when shallow sunsets open heavy eyes,
I'm left alone to slouch and wonder why
Their over-potent tepid brew of passion
demands and fades away again
like fashion
when their insides turn to objects --
lesser beings --
they're reduced to empty cans.
tin, cold
unfeeling
Bravo
pretentious, flat adieu.
Adieu, foe,
to things I wish I knew.
