Sometimes the poetry leaves
What is left are only fragments
Stories and events half understood

Cold and steamy escapades
Lifetimes of memories in a night
Spreading ink across bar tops and napkins

Stories of women barely known
Only a poet writing foggy memories as if reality
The best of them held within the darkness of night

The hero of the story a face in the mirror
The muse, the saint, and the whore
Blending becomes a cocktail on a table

Truth becomes a separate tale
Immortality and grace as if a reflection
Sinners, saints, and unrequited love colliding

One thought on “Faceless

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out / Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out / Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out / Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out / Change )

Connecting to %s