pretty words dressed in quantum frills
change nothing with their soft quills

Futility ferments acrid air
erodes what most want to hold
and leaves your heart afire -
your lips with a taste of dour,
papery pale as a silvery moon

No kiss this night to quench desire, or
kill the rising tide thoughts of you inspire

A lukewarm breeze, encircles all of me -
I close my eyes, and practice make believe
you touch me, and I will myself to breathe

It is late enough -
the moon is now, a fast-setting sun
Understand, what you have done -
you have made me, come undone.


:lqp
3/4/12, Billow