Time is age set in stone,
Perceptible where I move
By ghosts of mocking irony.
My day collides with afterthought
Stepping into a (war) zone,
Affiliating myself
Betwixt weapons and betrayal.
My night revolves a secret,
Spinning in webbed dresses,
A speechless tryst
Upon a balcony of axioms
Requiring no instant solution.
I array myself too listlessly
In tangents that steal
- A midnight's breath -
A wing of moonlight
From the face I sculpt,
An ethereal image
Admired endlessly.
Stranded I lay,
Where I influence
No incessant elevation,
For my mind is quietly
Curving the road
To {side} track
Into perfect projections
Of your held beauty.
