Blades cut silver spoon into stilted moon jingles
For earth sea platoon to evaporate the triangular rectangles
And so as she wept without regret not met before we slept
I was with more, one crippled cracked mirror than a little wet

Creeping up my legs, sweeping sins off the tentacled tabletop
Before the moon rises and the cutting finally sends us off
We thought back to yearly intercepts forcing decades to digest
Finding the fatal flaw foreshadowing a fractured philanthropist

He would once digress multitudes merely moaning for that moon mirror
Pinpointing the triumvirate teetering on tangled webs, I was too shy to kill her
Seeing myself was last on my mangled mind, mirroring the tragic mirage once heralded
Yet pour, for she had seen no more of the yellow striped tiger claw crouching beneath her head

Poems ripped from past passages reflecting in the mirror once held by the moon
Torn apart the very vacuum of love, lust and a line of blood poured from the spoon
Silver licked lavender and burgundy until all I could see was the chattering
She moaned in a cry justly derived and so we hide before the sirens ring

And so the silent sailor sings silently as he cannot speak
He aims to please patiently the parts of him he cannot see
Builds blinding embers the bridge he sails underneath
And so he softly glides the smokey aroma island breeze

Fortunately forsaken, she flies for finer facades for fear of finding love again
While sham it is, violently it beats the eggshell sofa she sorta felt comfort in
Four double doona beds breathe doubt throughout her beady eyelid dreams
Falling slowly and beautifully, she will never rise, yet her lonely carcass screams

The end of woe, forgotten, no, yet darkly lit, behind it sits, avoiding arduous annals
The tale was told but not for gold, public speeches always turned their rivers to canals
Divided their fall, lonesome their parting, darting to dodge dodgy journalistic farting
Forever free, glee, withheld, though perhaps it was the perfect way to begin their laughing