A tuckered bucket of preening primroses,
satcheled over the left-hand shoulder,
eyes hooded like awnings over bread tinged luncheons,
its been eons since rendez-vous took your shape and form,
perilous verbosity rots away on my tongue,
my eyes are a hostage on your figure,
the gentle malice is almost imperceptible from here,
or it is but an illusion of my grandeur,
that you and your majesty had ever broken down my door,
moments leave us as prey to the day to day,
the regretful palm out gesture is unrelieved and we part,
like the single stem of a shredded begonia, petals astray and seeped.