Lower than the moons smile, I shall kiss his sorrow
to stare upon a star, or two, away;
The ground insinuates that I pace forever parched,
it sips my tears perpetually arranged.
On memoirs of a ‘tomorrow’ supper
I’ll call his name to a broken sky,
but he shall apply his  appeasing sleeve
and mop my weathered horizon goodbye.

The syrupy breath of twilight will loiter,
and elevated grasses shall crave with a whispered moan.
A rebelling blaze in my breast will glimmer
guiding him further, a signpost to home:
The terrain will emit Daises, a formation of white
that reflect and swell my perception this night.


Oh! I shall soak in the Jasmine that grapples my pane
an aroma, inducing, a ridding of shame,
yet while the dawn kisses tenderly, my thoughts to the day
he will fade on Golden pastures, my outline in grey;
His eyes, penetrating mistreated membranes, imprinting my substance
and through earths powder, I shall collapse, without much resistance.


I will link my imaginings and tie him to elation
composing oaths of deep-seated love, for my soul is his creation;
I awoke on disguised pledges, and I drove them all about
an anthology of scar tissue, tossed and hurled out-
My Poet sings unmoving, to a hushed, but hungry sphere
And my colours fall fading, a  pastel pause tear.

S-G-K