I want to
cut loose the moon...

I still see you
at the bend of yesterday...

like metaphors
undeciphered...

The day morphs, takes its bow
twilight bleeds crimson...

I thought
they would blossom...

long rain cascades
morphs into a lyrical chant...

A silent dance
behind the eyes...

No, I will not burn
this poem...

what awaits the night
of my radiant dreams...

In the fog of fleeting moments,
I see you grasping at shadows...

Raindrops descend,
ruthlessly pounding...

The old house on the hill sits empty
its still structure a thousand tongues of silence...