'round two (the truth)

There is no escape
from the windowless shade
that divides my line of sight
from the heat outside;
there are no scripts
that aren't witty tricks,
concealed by the veil
of our erstwhile tale,
undiscovered and frail
like pain-stroked wings
emerging from its tessellated jail.

Soften my palm with your touch.
I'm just a pawn within the rush
like a letter in a line that's running too much.

Swimming in tandem
down a steep slalom -
I am reborn with cool.

Let soothing delusions
cascade the days
of the myriad spaces
that hint at your sunlight;
which stagger and hide
with a will to define
what is already disguised.

May my memory be true.

- Tibbz