Adieu in Ohio

Dormities, you are an awful romantic.
Ohio is a long way from the frost-tipped pine trees,
But regret is a wicker-cut of memory away.

What is erudite and what is scorn are
Two emotions born out of opposite contemplations
For the manifestation of a marble-chiseled mind. 

That is not to be.
It is not to be.
Transpontine communication is fragmented anyway.

The day, the twenty-seventh, or some Thursday,
Has been spliced and gutted away. 
It has been severed and fused,
As though seared in an elaborate flambé--

            --Presentation is noted,
So thank you for the kiss. 

Marialaina, your name slinks like
The hiss of a serpent in a syrupy labyrinth,
But merely as silhouette;
You are not for me.