oil lamp brute force by candlelight

each new encounter is mauve and oil lamp brute force
by candlelight as bashful as an eclipse in a mason jar.
on a bed of “ hey….”
sweet things fleet in the timbers of your atrophy
all wear masks to cotton the deep breathing impending
and all the raptures of a gasp
on a pinwheel.

where the shadows bring flashlights, you go there 
with your badge of honor, strapped to you iceberg
singing in a downpour, with your manta rays ablaze
in the fickle ocean of your calamities
marching through a hole 
in a Dam.