2AM
Bedroom door
Dim lights
Squeaky stairs
White noise
Television
Silhouette
Tick-tock clock
Kitchen knife
Red blood stains
Sweaty palms
Strawberry jam
Wheat grain sandwich
Midnight snack

Hello, I'm trying to write a poetic composition about my/an elbow, can someone please contribute or suggest something to this I need help, I know that it still sound half-assed and this poem badly needs surgery.

Your elbow is a canvas of a Van Gogh painting
Ocean currents, circling and weaving
stretching out as far as your arm would permit
you to hold such unrecognized beauty

Your elbow is a sheet of brilliant bronze laced
in layers of velveteen gold
stitched to shame the easy maze of your fingerprints

inching pace
battered salmon temples
wrinkled

in slight touch
your white wet noise plagues the
hollow

domes of my
entrance to judgement and
gossip

to forget
and knowing and promise --
music,

it is not,
invented subtle expression
meant

not for black
flying creatures that ****
life

out of the
sound of quiet

Throw away thy rod,
Throw away thy wrath:
O my God,
Take the gentle path.

For my heart’s desire
Unto thine is bent:
I aspire
To a full consent.

Not a word or look
I affect to own,
But by book,
And thy book alone.

Though I fail, I weep:
Though I halt in pace,
Yet I creep
To the throne of grace.

Then let wrath remove:
Love will do the deed;
For with love
Stony hearts will bleed.

Love is swift of foot;
Love’s a man of war,
And can shoot,
And can hit from far.

Who can ’scape his bow?
That which wrought on thee,
Brought thee low,
Needs must work on me.

Throw away they rod;
Though man frailties hath,
Thou art God:
Throw away thy wrath.

Thee shall bleed
and seep through
the endless pitch black blanket
that will tuck in
the human race
in their beds tonight