Intensity wanes as the day gathers warmth
and the vision that would have sustained
the words to be written has dulled
like a bakers blade heated and carved with fine line art
it serves its need with only a taste of the true intent
her ***** limbs and loose cloth dress
entangle the process in deeper things
never intending to let loose
never intending to reveal

the day endures the slow man
his fractured path along the road
is broken along the lines
of his bitter fears
which he announces like prayers to the humid sun
of his deliberate contortions of face and hand
which he offers up to the sky like sacrificial virgins

his staggered stepping
takes him past my door
his pet stops at the verge of its leash and
in no uncertain terms begs for sympathy
but for him or itself is unclear

thick on my face
slowly advancing stages of sorrow
each new thing brings to light
a new aspect of the diminished man
iv become since she opened the door to such
mystery theater and misery laden faces

her ***** limbs
her patchouli scents
her pre-printed desperate pleas are wooden
and filled with hidden hope
that throw off from her intended meaning
leaving one wondering who is confused
you or the far crowd abuzz with anticipation
she kneels and strips
soft carved delicate lines
with spider lines of ink and sweat
she humps the moment for its worth
before pulling on her dress once again

the words have lapsed
and i am left with only her dull empty waiting
and my own diminished soul