The Last Candle
[She wore I love yous like cheap lipstick]
feels like a cosmic rendering
of self-serving immunity.
The obliteration of emotional depth
is imminent in the shallows.
The rain returned as promised.
To unhinge from reality and its tasteless virtue,
I excuse myself from the vulgar feast
then lean from the shadows
to blow out the last candle.
I trace my fingers along
the darkness of forgotten words
between lovers, written a long time ago -
I tumble inside that starless night,
marooning myself within
the semiotic musings and moon-spun trysts
only to reverse the river for my pleasure of unfeigned lust.
[And there is where she carved the omen in her own image]
I know what lonely feels like.
© 2015 blue angel
Artwork by Andrew Atroshenko