This mist of darkness,
And that fog of yours.
My complaining silhouette,
I've left to wither.
Yesterday we had an argument,
Of cold tendencies.
By the hum of –
A washing machine,
Bleaching our guilt.
I've mentioned my
Fascination, admiration.
Selfish nature.
You've pleased a dozen
Devils. My subtle angel.
I thought I dreamt
Of trailing grey snow.
A crime scene;
Bogus tears running around. With cops of steel.
But it was only,
Your ever invisible face.