Prosthetic flowers
blue painted powers
prophesize the ceiling.
Exposing nerves,
thought dead.
Returning sounds, unsaid.
Whilst entertaining proposals,
of quivered knees, fallen over.

A charm, reconsidered.
The pride, undelivered.
Inside radioactive eyes
that call hither,
I’d swear otherwise
the desire, unfitted,
if ability be considered.

So, gamble, shall we,
act cautiously, in deed,
lest inkling become belief
and grief stricken relief
turns historic,
as a fool, once found euphoric.