Your presence is the
burning incense
that insidiously dances
with peacock fronds
and candlelight in the dark
Your truth is the
illusion that wholly vanishes
in the conversations
held deep within
the corridors of our essence
Your heart is the
pulse that shatters
notions of realistic views
and casts the pieces
to gnarling canines
You are the escaping glimpse
in a regretful reflection,
the scavenger's shrill cry
in the still coldness of night,
the blue heron perched
amongst the catalpa's abundant frills
Your hope is the
morphine drip
keeping my suicidal thoughts
from rupturing
my soul's thin shell
Your love is the
Gordian knot that I
have untied countless times
in singular company
and inebriation
You are the last words
flowing over my dying lips,
and the empty chalice
drawn from the Lethe
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