Steel my aching love of thee,
rent your fabric from my dreams,
quell the sudden upstarts’ shift
that pulls the threads from hidden seams.
Cast a cold and pallor stare
befitting of a graveside rain,
shred the memories of my soul
that I may come to love again.
Deny your silken beauty
to fabric of an eon’s dust,
count your blushing smile within
the dog eared pages histories trust.
Bathe my memory empty,
white washed before the bleaching sun,
that ere I come to see you
will fade before my heart can run.
Twist the ink by such a spell
to ne’er reflect the prose I’ve stayed,
dump the feathered drunkard well
till pools of black are left and played.
For thee I count among the dead,
tho’ ghostly still, by living haunt,
‘til in my fear, to see you,
is truly all I really want.