Languish in language; the one only I know.

Spare me your sensitivity, Miss Queen,

And may my honor align with the truth.

I don’t want to get left here now in this

Miserable old town, where love fades slow.

Give me the aftershock of a Martian glow.

It doesn’t make sense, to sit here wasting

On this church pew when my trust has left them.

You can find me floating down a shallow creek,

Savoring the chance to taste the morning dew.

I’ll find peace in the glance between mirrors;

Where my reflection cannot follow me.