A stilted stay, a pregnant pause,
as shadows sharpen midnight claws.
A dimming dome oppressed by night,
smiles weakly on this parasite.

It enters as a Trojan horse,
along a crawled collision course.
Its hollow husk holds silent spies,
who have no room for alibis.

This craven creature starts to nest,
in memories you'd long repressed
and darts behind your mood's eclipse,
a smirk of sadness on its lips.

From weary womb the beast begets,
its offspring weaned upon regrets.
Until it stirs with needle teeth,
to tear the tenderness beneath.  

It stalks from shade, a grievance grown,
to steal the thoughts that were your own.
Its brittle bark a bare refrain,
before it leaps and snaps the chain.

The word of a snail on the plate of a leaf?
It is not mine. Do not accept it.

Acetic acid in a sealed tin?
Do not accept it. It is not genuine.

A ring of gold with the sun in it?
Lies. Lies and a grief.

Frost on a leaf, the immaculate
Cauldron, talking and crackling

All to itself on the top of each
Of nine black Alps.

A disturbance in mirrors,
The sea shattering its grey one ----

Love, love, my season.

This night is too long, without you I toss and turn in hope of slumber, finding only isolation and shattering need. I ache, my heart a pulsing bruise, my body weak from all the wanting, my mind lost somewhere between your echo and the closing of the door. 

I am barely here, gossamer silence wrapped in satin bows and weeping scars.

I have become my own tragedy, a lost soul wondering through darkness, chasing the fireflies of my imagination but never grasping their glow. My age leaves me weary, too many years have passed unnoticed while your hands dealt passions blows in the name of fun and inappropriate pursuits, but to what end?
My loneliness is a heavy blanket that offers no comfort, our love is a lie without remorse and you, my love, are the noose from which I will hang.