:: Charity ::

Apologue

Another swansong lover, fades quietly to black.
Another dial tone dead, another phone line slack.
Another May, another June, another waxwing moon:
'Stay, baby stay: I'll be coming back here soon.'

'It's sweet, when we meet, but now it's getting tough,
It's my wish, I'm selfish; for you that's not enough.
You're perfect, in retrospect, yet fate plays us for a fool:
We've lost respect, there's no prospect―longing can be cruel.'

Another ending, another round: should we beg for clemency?
Another bending, my logic sound: love for love of urgency.
Another kiss, sweet kiss, that lingers on in fond fool's hope―
'Do not fall, do not call―and only then can our hunger cope―'

'Age is not a fitting gauge; it will not stop our scarlet crime.
You claim you're old―no longer bold―no longer friends with time,
It's a poor cliché, I hear you say, to hold my youth to blame.
And yet you want―and truth is blunt―there's no denying our shame.'

Another choice, another voice, another search to strategise.
No moral poise, no quick rejoice, I wait for fate to penalise.
I will not break, I will not take, what is never mine to keep.
I will not speak, of you as weak, for what is shallow can be deep.

'I cannot give, you must not love,' you say again with quick reserve.
Did my eyes go dull―is my heart now null―is my smile still rich with verve?
'Don't ascertain, I can entertain, and I'm not so quick to pain.
In your embrace, I am full of grace; for you I'm a painted smiling face.'