The silent hour upon which I cast golden movement to Vexed thoughts.
Through the dark still, sparks of Vibrance subtly contained itself.
How I love the folded black sheets of late. How could you not Vicariously live through the travelled blackened clouds?
My love, this minute of night belongs to the non-sleeping dreamers.
Virtue through Vanity.
Too conscious of the quiet;
the night robbed all the blue
from the sky
with narrowed eyes,
painting the curves,
tracing the shape of my desire
with a single stroke, I feel victim.
So much is revealed by the heavy black,
back alleyways to secret adventures,
so much silence lie contorted,
with only the night air for nostalgia.