Vines can crumble a castles walls

It's too tiring
to sit framing pretty words
to tack on to fading pictures
drawing diagrams
and potting plots to grow riddled
speckled in the rot of suspicion

in the dark
damp places of my mind
like vines behind eyes
nudging and pulling
crushing
as they see for the first time

paint peeling in practised motions
golden domes flake and sigh their glow away
and a snarl of lips
that smile their separate ways
nudging, pushing
crushing between them
exhausted words
of what the moment means