What now, starlight?
What say you to these never-ending
Elegies of long and lonely
Dreaming
Fueled by your fingertips
That have circled every lock of her
Midnight hair
That failed to glisten in all
The right ways
To keep your guilty
Conscience
At bay?
She could cut your tongue
For all the misleading
Love it spent
& you would still sing
Of nothing but
The sweet
& very, very
Low.