Hour of Dwindling

let these words not
fail me

in this hour of dwindling

when tinseled tears wander
down her unabridged flesh

to gather at the basin
of absynthium in alabaster

and the depth of blustering cries

shakes silver dust
of mothen lustre

never to unravel
as the curse of her acerbic tongue

drives rusted nails
through my volition

to revel in the pale moon’s visage

when the night blooms a sole plume of Cereus

[image credit: Jan Toorop]