November

Hear,

the sound of fire

by the hour

your face melts

into mine;

And I pine

for my rose,

love, stay close,

for the kingdom

is at hand,

or is it

a nonsense flick

on a hazy screen,

I wonder, girl,

if at all,

I had touched the tip

of what lies beneath

the barren stars

and I wonder,

what colour are your lips