thrice do the floorboards creak
beneath your feet, eldest first
and every step is a wound
vitriolic and repeating
i hear the tenebrous stair
spiral forth with the sound
of you leaving

and by the intervals of sleep
i will fall forever, hymnal-red
through the ceiling
our wildest dreams fade faster
in the folds of my memory

thinking of those eyes
one last time
wrapped around me

softly fall the leaves
like a twin-sided blade
from my grasp to the ivory
and towers of the sun
break and heal
across the windowsill
to meet the taut, ashen skin
on the hands
that released me

what is left of death
to behold but the ending?

the cloth is cut
and you’ve been absent
from my dreams of late
phosphene, ever-burning
like a wretched mask
moth-eaten in the night

dearest, am i just the fount
of unsettled dust?
there is something in your eyes
that i cannot place
all this golden blood in me
is a harvest giving way
to the sickle and the blade
rich with rust

you caught me
balanced on the chair
like an ether-drinker
living feverish dreams
in the depths of your sympathy

and the bleeding page
told everything
i couldn’t stand to speak
a pendant from the rafters
and the chorus
of your turning key

the night fell
as one last revelation
this pale moon, a metronome
in the gulf of my eyes
christ, i was so weak
for avoiding the spectacle
but i’m running out of reasons
left to say goodbye

my phantom at the doorway
all serpentine and sage
while your perfume takes to air
like the harvest pollen
exalted in the rain

and sometime, too
will i finally sleep
by the candlelight of day

oh, i could lay down
against her bedroom door
and never wake
though the twisted river
of my mind is coursing
still rapt by summer’s fury
brought to a boil

and the sympathies she shared
all fold and duplicate
with the endless molten morning
and her second storey
glowing like damascus steel

i go to sleep with a smile
that isn’t mine

you left your blueish dress
twisted by the pool’s edge
like a cold monument
to every single misstep
and my heart is overwhelmed
with visions of a dancing grave

via crucis in the morning
carry me to our palisade
while these tiny arcs of light
leave my eyes, breaking easily
and your voice keeps me awake
i believe that i need this

you were wrong
i am nothing
but one more familiar face
amid the pageantry