She flits
amongst the tangled
night in dreams
that I have not known
Yet the desire is
there to partake
of the darkness
that abounds and
surrounds from within her
Mingle me in your madness
Tangle me in your limbs
crawling across your skin
With my warm lips
against cold body
gradually gaining heat
the more you encompass
me.
Your disguise is my own
you think you wear
unbeknownst.
I know.
Mystery girl,
still a sad
forlon whistling tune
hanging in the wind,
a shadow dimly cast by
a light trapped in a closet
from a future not promised
nor sure
she sits tap, tap, tapping
her index finger
on a desk that hardly
ever saw a word written
upon it.
I listen for
her echo
Deep, hallow,
beautiful
wanting.
I listen for it
in the night
as she flits and flutters
in the dark.

by Philip Wardlow 2017