to Nicholas Vayle
My world keeps dying all the same -
an empty stage with broken roses.
His is a ruthless ruleless game:
no one is left, but someone poses
as remnant of the leather chair.
Some dusty speckles leave the table.
I desperately search for pair
under the leaves of lonely maple.
[ source of inspiration: http://wytchcroft.livejournal.com/107815.html ]
