The adelite dust settling
     Smothering--
Coppertinted foot prints
Where we once played Graces
Sullen with Pride...

The Sun splayed&shimmering abaft
Our collectif
Charnel houses...  
     Bronze hued&
Yonder the fields of Spelt:
     Putrid plumage,
     Melancholy of Season--
Ashened from Time
Immemorial--

Beneath the Moor
     MarkedandMuddy--
Our footprints forlorn
In eons begotten &
Charnel Houses
Immemorial--

The Magellanic Clouds,
virid up above;
the light of Streets
the rubberstamped rooms
the Winding Clock --
Shuttering forth
Houses expulsed by
the Wind:
beating in double Time.
Arias bursting,
Dissipating --
between Ears gushing
out.

While my heart lay
sanguine
on dirt-studded Snow,
(spliced straight through
with memories of
Me&You)
She, (my Sun coppery&glossy glowing yonder East),
looks
through tussled
maligner
ing eyes;
through
honeycomb shades
&eyes timeworn with
pride; and teacups chipped in
daunting morning
ritual.
But these, thee,
thou my flower bed,
thou will riseandshine as
Thebes did
anew.

the suns soft soothing rays:
golden, gleaming.
honeysuckling throughout the field
where you used to play.

your childhood waning with the moon
the sweet grass once a forest:
never ending. a story that
strayed between you and I.

ere long the wind blows,
and tousles your hair.
a glint in your hazelnut eyes
straying towards my plane.

so I linger for a mile:
listlessly, illusory.
and I saw your sweet smile
hidden beneath the mire.

The Sea speckling waves, I -
Watched the seafoam stretched
Yonder - azure and proud -
Upon the sea cliff,
Standing tall peering down,
Waves crashing upon the
Seashore shivering cold.

Lost in poesy, alas I -
Peered down the air
Gelid, humming from within a
Gilted and melodic tune -
As thrice I looked back
Your sordid gaze a hazey
Interlude to the crimson tide.

I have died
    on the cities
        and moors.
Avenues great gold
    and
        Godly.
Where the antelope
    Walk
With eyes pointed
    Northerly
The seascape far and
    W   i   d   e.
Bright eyes and
Misty days
    None are left
        They've all turned olive green
As bees fly
    down
        wind
Whispering with gilted
Tongues
    Slithering