Fugitives from the Well of Sorrow
Loneliness keeps me company
on nights when the moon has made other plans.
She is a fleet fox, a quiet visitor,
my sisterly companion. When poetry flees an empty page,
and music claims the sound of shattered hope,
she prevents my tears from being jejune.
She adorns herself in tears of ruth,
her flowing sables woven
with the intricate threads of time.
My missing oeuvre is hidden in the crannies of a brothel
as my paramour scribes me with quill and ink.
Without him I am asunder, incompleted. I have wondered,
from what romance novel are we runaways?
Loneliness; she calls me home.
But my wild heart will not be caged,
so I decree it to a lover's poem.