Poetics and Musings

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We sit making conversation He and I
Poised opposite across a wooden sea
Comfort in a darkness otherwise lonely

Cold looms up o'er the table
Hands folded willowy and white
Perched upon his chair melting with the light

We used to meet quite often
Spector finding me at night while alone
Leaching away warmth I am urged to atone

His face never falters
Of his company I fear I am never rid
It matters not how I ran nor where I hid

Hollow eyes never leave me
Haunting me through latched windows
Voice beckoning from Night's deep shadows

And so begrudgingly I greet him
I clasp those boney hands inside mine
No longer do I fight the heavy pour of bloody wine

'Forgive me please' I beseech
But he reminds me that is not his to give
And it never will be in the time that I live

'My communion with the damned'
He calls this meeting a mockery at Night's end
His overcast fast face has no sympathy to lend

My eyes find the holes in his
A farcical prayer in a den of sin
Knowing despite the begging we will meet again