I Would Play A Fool to Folly If Someone Brings the Wine
don’t put your chin over my shoulder
the things you have seen
blaring themselves beyond my eyes
where they sit in memory, glued and tethered
to a love-bound book of tarnish and weathered
i am warm. i am frost. i am all that is lost.
without you, without lime, we rest all of the time.
there is nothing to be said
but Victorian funk was never so salty
nor ever so despaired
the answer is why
and the question is where