Devices of Torture
Tonight, I thought you were free,
To stroll the wastelands of modern life,
Excluding all others, except but with me,
Pretend, to how I should call you my wife.
Tonight, I thought we would go,
Go to the pier, the far reaches of space,
Two souls sprung free of this perilous race,
Maybe, in time to catch Liberty's snow.
Tonight, I thought about us,
Amateur coursing of every last stroke,
Our nights without rest, my mind you have broke,
My fault for producing a sixpence of trust.
Tonight, I thought of your face,
Rounded like mine, of three years and time,
Pink ombre'd hair and black, staring eyes,
A smirk, all delusion dead without trace.
Tonight, I thought of our songs,
Our magnet; of placer, not steel,
Of the pouring and fruitless emotions we feel,
Not you, mine are the ones in the wrong?
Tonight, I thought of it all,
I thought of the dusk and the gold, come dawn,
My want for incredulous, dangerous faun,
And promises, dear, I've thought of them all.
Tonight, I thought of the end,
I thought my right hand as Saint Michael's dagger,
Perhaps, with power to render you staggered,
Perhaps, lacking the power, to bend.
Tomorrow, I won't think at all.
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Posted Nov 8, 2022, 1:46 AM UTC