of each summit's step, thread
consciousness of her lips.
And as moon echoes days' keep, pulse crests of need;
our veridical silibance tucks its transience to sustain this teething heart.
Quelled of palsied flesh, thy spent yennings spread tense
as I enunciate attempt of life-lit constancy.
Temper now tongue to own name, to subdue taste
to hold her of hands
sanctioned, shadowed.
© Christopher Brandon Lancaster
