poeticsighs

The fever in his veins call only her name In the devil's bedroom, a brooding man begins fingering the keys, no girl as easy as the right melody a song for the fallen into late hours of the night He plays for his temptress who will never be his a ballad breaking from somber notes, rising before a breathless audience of the deceased They look onward, unblinking like little dolls without eyes They are no longer stars but years of dying light and perhaps there was no love just a heart, breaking its wingless body into flight

when i thought of you i thought of birds in flight you and I, taking pictures in the square the large clock tower glowing in the night hands risen. constant longing in love with the  moon I thought of a cat in a window waves of sun extending beyond it thinking of these things now does not bring me closer to you In fact when I think of you the sky is often empty. there is no one in the square. Look at the clock tower, how sad! its hands still risen there. and the cat, that poor cat on the windowsill Where has it gone? Sunlight fills its place warms the pane, moves with the day, along the glass feline ghost, oh, had I k