Maroon Temple

The single full rouge glass:
Matched with crowed substances
Blurred unclasped brass,
Statues of two ghost’s absences
Soul littered from a single letter –
A character contrived of a brushstroke
An art so sweet for the better
Of our hearts entwined around an ancient oak.
This isn’t denial it’s merely nature
Aid me Mother for my heart has crumbled
He is not lost: but I am so
A forfeit of a maroon wine, humbled
Like a dandelion in the grass left to grow;
Your tongue conscious of my name
The letter’s languish a Lillie,
Which wilt at your way of honeyed flame

Sir your careless, beautiful, and wandering act
Has captured my fingertips,
Knitted into capsules of your true fact
Yet again I write of an unknown script,
Unsure of where this may lead
A facade of muddled eight lined stanzas
Will you ever know that I agreed –
That your hinderance holds my hidden answers

In the palm of your hands,
In the knuckles of my knowing
In the man-made broken sands,
In the stem of the flower that is growing
In the deep dark liquid of a ship’s mast,
In the maroon temple of a girl’s past
In this single full rouge glass.



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