The Sodden Torch of Eros

Shadowed in an inky shroud I will deliver my torch song,
a defeated infatuation of the amative,
the faulty flight of the fluke:

His eyes have the power to immobilize
clandestinely brilliant like the dark before the spark
penetrating pretensions with a glance
They are unacquainted with the rare smile
framed in nicotine and developed with wit
tasting of age, of time, of seasons
of intervals of fact and future and forever
encircled in albescent skin, refilling the pinpoints of pressure
where my once potent fingers gripped the transient
knotted in the labyrinth of stretched kinks
pulled back at the base, the rudiment of weaving
the network of notions, ideas
sensing the sooth, the sight
past layers of credulity and mountains of molded minds

Releasing the beacon he dropped it in the dew,
calling the fog to flatten the flame
But the mist of the morning lay limp
and the brand abides