With every face, the absence deepens
and the amethystic properties of promise
stumble on the flagstone of improbability.
The dipsomaniac or dionysiac brings questions
in the light of wine to a fruition
fast designed by chained desires.
Hoyden smiles, conveys an eyebrow up
then sips upon the scent of indecision
manifest in the discomfort of the victim:
‘This is where we are,
just you and I,
protected by the curtains
and blind eyes
of those who have no wish to see
the extend of indiscretion
and the power of perversity.’
Denial falls upon deaf ears and hears
the weakness of its own response
echoed in the truth of cardinal want.
What “is” commands no difference
on present circumstances;
what “could be” measures degree in our obsession.