If ever I dared to call,

"4 AM Minstrel"

My eyes meet the sky
under lies I pretend are true.
You for me:
A farce.
A fallacy I fashion into fantasy
in my most weary of instances.

Playful pretentiousness aplenty.
I purposely purport a penchant
for the pomp of passionate moments
that have never even taken place.

I wander in want
and wonder what daunting
depths lie before my imaginative emissions.
Conditions better served for story tellers.

Sellers of secrets that stick
to the side of the brain
driven so far past insane
that pain is rarely an impedance.

I dream this and thrive.

I dive.

I fall in and sprawl when
I crawl into my fondest of fancies.
Glancing at the sky once again,
I grin when one would presume grimace.

Penance for the thinker:

Drinker of emotions laced with devotion
to such tasteless thoughts between
what the mild mannered would dream.

One would sigh at the mere sight.
The steam that accompanies what I envision.
Thoughts that glisten but are tarnished.
A far miss from most...

Most who would boast without hesitation
that the nature of their intent
for some isn't unspeakable.
Even so,
my need to profess is quelled.

So I yell to the skies with my eyes
as if it hurts to blink.
I think of what we'd do
and how much we could get away with.

A day with desire.

My pupils burn drier than fire
and I cannot maintain.
Eyelids close to calm the flames
and all that remains
are the embers of imagination.

No temptation.
No fixation.
Barely a trace memory
of how you smell to place with
how I believe you would taste.

No thoughts left to chase.

Just a face etched into memory,
some symmetry for sport
and your number as my very last resort
in case it all overwhelms me.

If ever I dared to call,
I wonder what you would tell me?

I usually fall asleep by then.

Written By: Devin Joseph Metz



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