Nigh—

was the stage
we almost—
started a new life together
crafted in a nightly hush—
rushing our verdant minds
versing our ardent hearts—
even the moon
      —    gravid
beamed brighter than ever
as if in a blessing
yet—
unknowingly—
you dissipated in
verisimilitude
and made me believe in
the almost, the near
tangible—
in which little Ila would
skip around the glimmers
in our stars and
coruscate off our dreams
but in your vagary and my
delusion
we only performed but
never realized the
suburban reverie—

Night

‘Tis the time to lay bare one’s truth,
but there are some verities
that must stay under the pall.
It is for your own good, my darling island,
that I hide you away from the world
so, your heart may stay unbroken.
For the veneer of sheer cowardice
will not maraud your untouched land,
nor vitiate your measure for his own gain.
You will flourish,
in the dark,
but abound in love.
Abandoned,
and marked by his lies,
we may be alone together
but, still abide the onrush of tomorrows
with bravura, and brevity.
So, with this cover
may you stay warm, and with this
kiss may you feel and never forget
my boundless love for you.
Goodnight, my little angel—

Playhouse

sealed, smooth
is the white picket fence,
circling the limelight of
our little life in the
hinterland,
the back of beyond,
suspended,
between the sheared
chaparral,
and the evergreens
wilding,
beneath our feet,
hiding aphids and wilt,
gamboling away
in blithely blights
and, as the days go by
such oddities,
surrounding our home
only grow to obliterate us,
oh, but won’t you come,
and play house with me
in this organic jungle?