The Splinter

In my dreams,
a chateau took form.
Native to what was to come
my fingers
cast the arsonist
as its masterpiece.
Long suffering did not know
the pucker of a vanishing tongue
for I was the hearer of illusion
kissing nightmares under creaky doorways.
Unburdened, I once danced
to expected love's return.
As sweet camouflage played,
the attending antiquity
was born in walls.
Applauding mirrors mesmerize imitations
in such a way, that the enduring flair
of an outsider carries sanity to the flame.
How eerie it is to find myself
emptied by wisdom,
sitting alone as reflection paints anew.
Intimacy must know my stories to touch
my treasured forbidden pulse.
Can't I paraphrase the finale of my loathing
that you might know enough?

Here lay the ruins from embezzled love
and yet look at how magnificent it all is.
The crumbling walls will illuminate
what’s caged and
fallen
and the splinter
will dream of its depart.