There’s
a masquerade, a cage
of
facades, where love is
koans.
We spoke for briefs,
to
totter through weather,
where
she disappeared. I
combed
a room, to no avail,
where
she reappeared. Her
smile
was torn, a storm of
hearts,
reaching for an arm.
I
was dreamlike, to move
a
mask, to nurture champagne.
We
laughed, closely
knit,
to turn trestles. It was
more
a fairytale, a room of
costumes,
a perfect charade;
but
something real, to
touch
affection, a mask to
reappear.
I vied for sight, to
feather
woes, a verse of prose.
A
sudden pause, a
mask
to tear, a need to fly.
I
chased, to stand still,
aware
of self. Forever gone, a
rope
of chi, stirring through
a
swamp. We met for love,
where
love was veiled, a
moment
for
love. Months would pass,
a
memory torn, a trip up
a
coast; and there she stood,
in
beaming white, a
scarf
to accompany. Our masks
for
grays, to leap for wings,
absent
to such affection. I
spoke
of woes, a shadow’s
turn,
a face flushed brightly.
She
spoke for exit, a second
keen,
to glance a second
mourned.
