Were my love not brazen

as carnival lights at dawn

flickering madly

to a waning calliope,

I’d have tucked it away

in a matchbox,

diffused the flame

and snuffed the sparks—

Left orchestras to rot

in the graves of all

who dared to live

their truth before us

But I do ask and I do tell

when stars tumble from your lips

to mine, the universe shouts

in symphonies resurrected

Conducting our vaudeville hearts,

harmonising whispers of ghosts

pleading for lavish parades

in the monotone stillness

For this love is brazen

as a circus fire at dusk,

too fervent a vision to hide

behind the curtain’s fall.