Don’t say it, do not haunt me

Follow a pence, a pole or garden path,  
a shimmering lane soaked in a moonlit bath.  
You own the starry stream, the current and the staff  
They steady my waltz and the thrum of my laugh  

But I am no mirror afore you  
so do not haunt me please just send this note  
with ash or fuse drawn from the churches pew  
to be sewn within the linings of my sister’s coat  
 
Drag me under, someone,  
below nude celluloid, in all blemish,  
before some fresh thought becomes meaningful once more.  
 
It was all laden, ‘fore you spoke, before you stood,  
the coma laced in moment, a pause statuesque.  
We teach and spit out as fast as we can brood  
on these drafts of things so messy on the desk  
 
Slouches and saws; glimpses and draws  
our blindspots that would not grow back again.  
Your hazel and innocent eye returns them to the night,  
with our forefingers and thumbs forming a frame.  
 
Shout out your witch's franc; that silver studded tooth  
spit-cemented into the greenhouse glass  
with thought that this throne was big enough for two  
two murmurs that slip  into the fog among the grass.  
 
The higher I scale my mortgage on you,  
the lower the tide,  the harder to drown  
and closer is the horizon to hug the shoreline  
the easier to hook my crooked lip to the ground.