You of the untamed *** appeal and soul appeal of a true Renaissance man
So called because each time your fingers brush mine
My night sky is Reborn for the ten thousandth time
Every star more vibrant than before
Blushing on my behalf because my cheeks stained red long ago
This is the image – the only knowledge of you I have kept:
Trifling contact with genius
Yet – and yet – every season’s constellations grin down
On nights of wisp, whimsy, and Absolute Solitude
Showing only this image
And nights are quite darker without the Rebirth that you taught me could be
Well I suppose –
There is one other celestial tease
One where your club thumbs brush not tips, but lips
To draw back the curtain withholding all of the awe you instill
“It has been so many days since we last touched,
And my hair has grown longer ever since.”
(Keeping the exact number as my own)
It is then with horror that I watch my thoughts
The Questions I have always longed but never dared to ask you
Scatter on batwings
Startled by the oceanlight in your eyes
Even when I search for the things I had already told you
In all number of back road hallucinations
Those too have left
So all that remains and escapes through my barren mouth
Is that muted cry of stagnant love