You, like little ice picks, haltingly,
Oh my snowy one,
You break into my trajectory
And say, are you reality, or just symphony?
Oh, I don’t know.
Blue brittle vicegrips, brokenly
Chip my teeth away
And break them into potpourri
And the scene goes from alchemy into anarchy
Like anything else.
But your words play on my heart like piano keys
Left in concert halls,
Eternal unremembered melodies
That you play to me, as your legs move in harmony –
Oh, let me go.
And these, needless words made foolhardily
Just for artiface
Conceal the emptiness of memory
Badly made into allegory, or fake history
Oh, it’s enough.