Closing hour.

The wade vague brilliance

no token to the wild

a card coins through me

in a wish for rain

reigning densly in shadow

the victim stands now.

And anxiety turns

spite's naked touch

screen leashes

in the break of dawn.

Of a lit road

toads sprained across rivers

no blighty taste of frailty

in the stained shivers

blind and arrogant

cold in favour

fever and few

Hoist purity and snakeheads

upon the mildly forgetful

no smoke horizon.

Forgive and forget

what torn left

to antagonize beauty's theft.

Thieves let.

Turning.

Tours of the invevitably sane waves

where tumours rave

nudity on masses.

Nothing shorter than the dark.

Drinking amused tears in the fervent bushes of tepid dismay.

A lush tendency to adore.

Before.

The things they had going.

Wide midlands tail

a swing of swag

for a moonish snail.

A gritty wag.

Swiftly teased.

To be of none later than gone.

While veils of ventriloquist dolls pose empty.

In the shade.

Shakes she.

Said.

Wealthy spores torn left of no shoe land.

Where the mountain breaks.

A dream shedded.

Clear-voyant peers of adonai.

The pictures taken.

And we dazzle in embalmed memories of forlorn tides.

Shifting strides, the gaze upon you.

None withheld reason.

Getting ready.

For the solitary read of misty clouds.

For her.

 .