A room lit by lonely light.

You cut the shade darker
spark solitude          
and wrap it to a different world              
the sun alive in your eyes,in paper  
escaping crisp  
winter silence and  
wantoness of being wet
by black cynic words.    
            
and by morning a thing dies  
like a axe and unshaved wood            
meditating dark pagan,
where curses suspense the          
wind to a tree outgrown  
chewing away melancholy        
don't be a glory,but yet a        
thousand fireworks across screen      
for lust in me hungers ceaslessly      
a story sewn in dream,unclaimable  
resting in a whoring beauty,fire in forest
and i'm still awake writing
verses to midnight's table.