Gentle , the night is bitter
The words are worse than hemlock
Yet you share
Even when you needn't
Subtle
The absence, yet so much worse than a nail
Inching into my fingers
Quite is such
Such is your absence
Spelt in debauchery
Worse than chaos, for it spawns order
Your not being around is far more
Yet I pass by
The very image of what I know
In sheer acceptance
Ridiculed by the soul
Of you being long gone
Or going away
Even post my prophylaxis
Your attributes dawn on
As if to torment
Gnaw at my heels
In your sense of privity
Or my sense of depravity
Neither mattered
For neither would have
Neither should I fathom
For you or your essence is erased by you
With turpentine
Dissolved
The colours bleached in an oxymoronic elegance