Taunting
sadness swings with tenacity,
as liquid love rides the weave
to
the end of her raggedy rope.
Enchanted night traveler
emerges
upon the sculpted scene,
realistic
with his bodily substance.
Fluttering soul clenches calm before
a chapter of moments unravels.
Hope trickles away in flustered silence.
Is it not frivolous to postpone love,
when
its very deterioration has already begun?
Breathless candles flicker in wait,
merely
for old custom’s sake,
exhaling
sordid songs in sweet repetition
who once extinguished, cease to soothe.
Jennifer
Burnside
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