stormboy

You once unfolded a list—

            The door slams.
    The room gasps.
My sketch-paper flits to the floor;

  The drape twists.
      A new ache echo-rasps
              ‘Fore it scrapes mortar thrice-more.

                    So absurd—
            I couldn’t escape to adore you…
      Who’d stir to toggle the blackened clasps

  O’ my passion, that eaten roar,
        You deaf-unheard?
                But, I subsist: a beaten-back-boy

        You ne’er upliftingly kissed.