There shall be
no dawn,
as Dawn itself
waits.
An hour in passing
is an hour
in vain.
Gentlest, most hallowed
like a song
of the night;
words are but words
spelled
in neon lights.
Mist,
let me greet you.
Let me say goodbye.
Let me bade you
farewell.
Let me kiss you.
Let me cry.
Let the fog,
finally,
as it thinly unveils,
shut you
blow sand
unto your cold, cold eyes.
Someone break
the ice.
Someone will.
Someone will.
In eternal slumber,
someone will;
someone,
most precious,
gifted
heart of summer.