Frost Moon

sometime there is a quiet
                   I can do less than define
             I find my sight distorted___
                          and I hate grief
                 so I veil it well|
                   though it has lost importance

     when you led me to a black
                room with tiny skylights&
                   the zodiac writ on the floor
                          [carved like a second skin]
                  I eyed your sign and I loved you

            there were so many paintings
                                    so many lurid frames
             your image was immortal
                                        as Dorian Gray
                      perhaps cursed
                                         just the same

Authors Note:

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