wet. ambition of her silken hair
scatter my moral compass
but after terse words
we set out on the road
her tale carries us for miles
and leads to many thoughts
but I'm easily distracted and distraught
by soapbox celebritys and their
rabid claims to fame
and am left to letting her choose our path
she pens regrets to me and mails them
to the wrong address so ill never know her love for me
has grown cold

I befriend the postman
putting the letters of my words
carefully on his face with a fine line pen
but he keeps whispering that I should be
so sad because love has been rejected
and my heart was returned marked postage due
the description sours when
the ink hits the page
never quite suits the thought
as we trundle along the stony path
the bone rattling pace lends misgivings

find my way home in the song of her heart
find my weary way to her door
turning the door inward
and see the vault of her hearts fortress
reduced to rubble ans she has
now gone

she has fled eastward
wagon laden with tales and trinkets
her blue dress flowing over the side and fluttering in the breeze
wet ambition is no mercy
wet ambition is cold