The Exquisite Hoax
Sir of the sayable as long as it is sayable
you promise to unfurl a heaven where no one believes us.
“Mine” takes the shape of what is over, stars more civilized than clear.
Before the fate cascade I touch up the blindstamped lettering of “Yours.”
What light is to the eyeless we are to the lonesome.
Neither of us can get out of earth’s way.