You are the Belletrist

It's not what it looks like

When twilight serenades your face at 5AM

The mise-en-scène belies a feast of fates

The moment's affects in suspended animation;

Your shoulder strap

Your lit cigarette

My want to move in you

End scene

The struts of my being are toppled fortnightly

And my denatured essence keels

And keens

And claws to feed

At silken veils for

Hook-and-loop coalescence

Sealed tight

It's not what it looks like

We salt the earth of psychic melodies

Those shrinks were playing out of key

I am the beast in your immediacy

You are the belletrist in me

Sometimes I get the feeling that I used to have

I used to expand beyond myself;

Into this cavernous, magenta maw

I'd bound and interlace, awesomely

In time immemorial

There I am

Sowing some ephemeral sinew

Elegant in dripping air

The veil slips and bares

The lip of your lacuna soul

The moment overflows

I sip and suffer more

We salt the earth of psychic melodies

Those shrinks were playing out of key

I am the beast in your immediacy

You are the belletrist in me

Sometimes I get the feeling that I used to have