Her rising voice-like venom in me
Breaks one over and over and over again
As a fortune cookie spelling images
In the hearts of them
Still cold and torn
The stars collide and love abides
With the fall of the curtain call
Where absence lingers
And distance grows
From within and without
Like the sounds of dragging chains
Of creaking floorboards and wrapping presents
Branches scraping windowpanes in my head
.....Gnawing.....
.....Evermore.....
As mirrors hissing from the dark
Stealing voices and theatrical sympathy
From reflections passersby
Like a cold hand-print on a muddy floor
And wet footprints in the murky sky
They sing to me the melody unsung
Of a diary hidden beneath her stained sheets
Letters and pages whispering of murders
Folklore evil, and love labeled 'perilous'
That leap the injured innocence of Lavinia
With wings of warm thoughts and blinding silhouettes
Only to splinter in the fall
Of November
Can one.....truly.....forgive
When I spilled ink as crimson
On this novelty called 'You'
Or does it simmer.....does it burn
And bleach its sable surface,
This fastidious sybarite, a glossy prim?
Can hope wane thin
When it does not exist
In us?
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