Derisions of Perdition

Always start with the
best of intentions,
so the story goes
(on and on);
and just as quickly
turn to noxious
notions of reciting
passages of affection
which,
if uttered here,
would evaporate
into the evening sky,
overbearing in encompassing
enormity.

Know that I'd tell you
(in flowery prose)
exactly how much the itching/crushing
curiosity of
your now-sensationalized-fingertips
(stilled, confident, always by your sides)
weighs on me
if I thought it'd
equate usefulness beyond
watching
the slowly falling dust
in the slipping sun.