this is as far as my adventurous spirit goes,
braving the winter rain,
to sit on the damp incandescent stone,
to sit and stare at you,
blow some mist from my frozen lips,
to cover you for a moment even,
braving the exposure,
of the two hippies,
sitting intimately,
are they lovers?
the glint sparkling on
the remnant of the cigrette stub,
is it a reflection of their eyes?
he gives me the words,
to describe, express, display,
(all mechanical words from a thesaurus)
what i wish to say to you,
through the last score of my life,
he gives me the succulent words,
the 'rustic' soul,
the blossom of the silver eyelids,
all incadescent through your shadow,
which shadow even,
is moonlight to the world,
i love even,
the dumbed freeze of my toes,
turned blue,
the chill of the night,
made worse by the damp which you inspire,
but i am thankful still,
as it tells me,
where its frozen now,
is also the moist life,
not dead yet.