Night Owls

You, old coot, the devil in disguise,
with grey clouds at your temples
sadness in your eyes
hide in your hovel
try to step forward from your demise
continually stuck in whatever gets you through the night.
One flesh, spirit licked to a polish shine
spit-thick pearl upon pearl, pushed flesh to the front
folded upon itself for this time.
Trickster, fantasy supreme
we should go out and scream in the streets
but instead I sit here in my comfortable abode and write.
What kind of weakened spirit chooses words over friends?
The type of depravity for making up stories instead of new dead ends.
Step back with the magic black I drew the spell tonight.
Let there be lace and a face to frame mine
a slip of a boy not quite a man.
I know this story told and told around the edges,
skirting fetish, wrapped in possibility of kisses
near misses back to square one.
On our feet on our knees, these keys never undone
never unlock having spun the prisoner of vanity and fun.