Highwayman Stoic

I can’t stay
To beseech silver grace from a puddle so soon run dry
For my grief to waste rivulets and lines
Of somatoform suspicion
I still linger and long you
Expecting lamplight in your hands
Offering me remnants of true light
In young flint pools
I see knowledge
A flicker, a glow
But I seek stirring in these embers

Allure

I spent the night
Counting the marks of the stars on my ceiling
And seeking a reference
Of the worth of our being
While I shivered
Remembering
What the leaves might have seen
Lovely amber interlopers
Hark not upon the ground
At bruised feet

Climax

The white sheet comes to call
The small
Of my back and its freckles aligned
All mismatched stars in white scrutiny
“Mmh, please,” comes your voice
Executes all the noise
That is so seldom coming from me
The voyeur arises; I shudder no longer
“Time of death- 11:03.”

An Allegory For Doubt

No
I won’t drown my sheets in Debauchery
Because it resides in nostalgia
In unlocked lacking logic

Because (I swear to you)
I will turn my bleary eyes to slam the door
If it exists

Because linen
Only hates the breeze
But in cases like these
Smoke works wonders

Zenith

Sweet dark-hair of demigods, further East
With mind reflecting celluloid
But thoughtful all the same,
Tell me tales of your seldom
Landlocked sunshine
That you may glow again