Chaperone

She slipped right past me.

.

Hear now:

The rankling call draws near

To utmost opportunism and

Eyes shedding tears.

.

A wayward song

Where truth be gone

And a smile’s heat

That sears

.

The gazing eye of loneliness

A pestilence little understood,

Though imagined by soft brains

And cushioned by our fancies.

.

A wayward man

Where truth stands not,

As firm as naught,

Nonetheless an emptiness.

.

She met him tall and bright!

Nevermind the sacred scars.

He’ll have her this night

At the dusk closing of bars.

.

A wayward glance

Befitting denizens below,

And he escorts her body

And chaperones her glow.

.

I should have known.

.

Her light goes where it will.

.

.

.

.