Flesh of pallor
         Night of rose
                 Sunshine scented breeze.

Your honey-dew disposition was in want of truth
The curve of your bare shoulder, serrated.
The shadowed offering lying in the lamplit corner
Turquoise flavoured were the high pitch screams.

Insidious undertones of posies, fresh
Velveteen cushions were exuding century-stale fluff.

I looked at your phosphorescent eyes
But never once looked in them
For if I did, I would have seen the last bars of Fur Elise.

Dimmed, diminished, daunting
The broken blue edged china vase stared at me, unflinching.
I looked back and then I heard
A thousand magpies, unending.

So, I turned my face and took a step
but my stride was unfaithful to my desire
You called me back, and so I left
My plasma was on f i r e.