veins over tendons course
like a meandering river,
topography of lands and jungles
thicket, sinewing through muscles and bones,
in the lonely hands of a winner.
the thick gossamer of a deserted winter,
lush tones of yesterdays summer
allured in the wine crushed by another’s feet
percolating sin into another’s words
clouds like fresh cream, only in yesterday’s dream.
bright red stars and bells chime now
to bring in another chariot of time.
Decades more to sleep.