The sky is pale and slick with
falling rain
in shades of blue, grey and
silvery teal,
swept up in pretenses you still
conceal,
hidden in trails of an unfolding
vein.
The ever ghostly stars have risen
here,
ivory beneath a gossamer veil…
they gleam incandescent in
Heavens pale,
remnants of your long-lost
presence, my dear.
Your lips are the good-fortune of
sailors,
the sea is your voice, the wind
is your breath,
the armored sky is a violent
death,
your arms the fall and ruin of
whalers.
Am I to believe your well-written
lies,
cast soft across the naked blue
of skies?
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