the foolish thing about me is that
even in the most starless of nights
i swear i see your face in the sky
thin contrails define the contours of
your face and the faint luster of
the quarter-moon is
your sirenic beam
illuminating

my lonely castles in the air
this solitary heart of mine
can't bear to scatter the stones
for my feeble soul will only gather
each and every last one splintered
my fingertips under your vicious spell
like in a catalepsy i cannot depart will build
myriad statues; columns of tributes chastely paid

down to your fangs crooked, eyes black,
hair crimson gossamer, $2 acid green leather shoes
and cigarette fixed between ghastly ripe lips
uttered infinite slanders and sins then
the swan song sang way too soon
i am tethered to your morbid grandeur
prisoned by your hard-bitten disposition
such enticing torment i revel in