Love’s interior, cruelly dimmed, appears
in reflections. Vivisection won’t show
emotional artifice or its tiers;
skyscrapers steel up from such pathos.
A sterile Milan, within dilettantes,
breeds ennui in a pair. Their forms divorce
among the revelling rich: without want.
Like rivalling youths aborting their force,
the brief freedom streak of a skyrocket
dissolves. Above idling idols, the sky
fills with colour from a single silhouette,
Then the substance of it. Morning light spies
two cores at opposite ends of an eyesight—
denuded by dispassionate white: the night.
Copyright © by Kevan Copeland