:::the ending and all sorts:::

How this compass
takes and forces
the head of a fool
i clearly see
and down you try
to push your eye
but the rancid dream
is kept to see.

Haunted holdings
cannot sail
stocks in cellars
soon to fail
A muted tongue
dripping wet to sing
as it pushes through the lace
i bring.

I'm tracing thread
and lolling round
the fiber of the veil i've found
and under chilled night air
i see
intrepid muscle sliding free.

Honeyed dreams
and wading pools
of girlish promise
and womanly dues
subside to nothing
a decade past
but just a moment
my first, his last

:::amber.hart.sinclair:::