If romance is dead, then so is music-
Unchained melody, familiar tune.
Spare me the notes that I already know;
Trade it for something more original.
I just now caught the shadow of your smile:
It’s playing across the canvas of my ceiling.
Memory is the after-taste of sight-
Thus, let me be a connoisseur artist.
I don’t believe in “Always,” or “Never.”
We are too temporary for such words.
Promises are only good intentions,
Temporary honesty at its best-
Or, so They will say, those ominous They-
Societal demons in gold cages.
See how they watch. See how they point and stare.
See how they see me find my own way out.