At the Stroke of Regret

Eggshell sky cracks and spills midnight over the city
as stars sprinkle my twilight like silent gawking graves.
Memories poured over the hot coals of remorse
distilled in a lifetime of occupation, and indecision
are little more than flickering fireflies
chased by a lost child.
~
The scent of a stale fear
Perfume’s the waterfront.
~
The wilted flame, from replanted candelabra
bares the stigmatisms of each love reborn,
seeded fire in a flowery passion, the candles,
stoic as a martyred monk,
remember each night.
~
The scent of stale love
anointed in Tidy Bowl.
~
Tangerine plumes pour a new dawn
teakwood morning saps sleep
from the eyes like an open faucet,
yesterday a rehearsal of today.
~
The scent of stale memories
lingers at the stroke of regret.