Upon misery's moat,
we are destined to float.
some of us suffer our wishes,
the rest of us cast for fishes.

Like cobwebs cling to the corners,
as the spring winds howl,
we too cling to life,
as the zephyrs of time,
blow past us.

And like the webs,
we to eventually lose grip,
and blow away,
like so much detritus.

Wine glasses filled with red,
matching shadows under lace,
a devilish and delicious grin,
the smile on her face.

She wishes to devour me,
taken over by the devil inside,
I believe I shall allow it,
and enjoy the Valentines ride.

Waves of green,
then of amber,
then a beach of sand,
after the harvest.

Freedoms spell cast,
blended into wine,
reasons and explanations,
distilled into, "it's not our time."

One final word,
two final kisses,
tears falling,
more than three.

I close the door,
the engine purrs,
the highways call,
I will no more.

Imagination,
clicking of antique typewriter keys,
puffs of dust rise,
ghostly steps trod creaking stairs.

Scurrying sounds emanate
from dark corners and inside walls,
my breaths are so loud,
I hold it.

The fog arrived,
not on the feet of cats,
but as a beast of burden,
swallowing the port and the ships.

The croak of horns
scared it not,
the flash of lights
would not distract.

Stubbornly it sat,
refusing to budge,
in the early morning,
waiting for the sun.