The knave

promise of fruits
in swollen stem tips
promise spoken from
twitching blue lips

kisses from bitches
dressed in lacy white
who can't stay within
their Decembering night

yet a knight's needed
to slay the frigid stay
stab and jab and draw
the blinds of a warm day

but only can be found
a barking dog of a knave
to take from the people
what is sure as the grave

different is the green
the knave searches for
far from what grows
on the shaded forest floor

still a different green's
found within the knave's eyes
the same of the dead
ruled by the lord of flies

lives lavish the knave
with trees of hollow trunks
in company of either or
drunks or monks or skunks

for this forest, these trees
gnarl and twist to please
but blossom with toxins
to obliterate working bees

promise of fruits hidden
within the sticky ends
promise frozen burnt
by the knave and his friends