A poem on love in patient yearning. Made in iambic pentameter.

My eyes dry underneath this midnight sky.
Faraway, longing your glowing caress.
Heavens lie, boring on my tune, awry—
Palisade, a song of blue and distress.

A touch, a whisper, a quaver, a croon.
I blush, went under, this weather, too soon.
A crutch, this twister; I miss thine, commune.
I must, do render, a fineshrine, this sprue.

On Stygian winds, do these lovers fly?
Lonely is the cry of one man’s partake.
Towards the river of the Red Dune nigh—
I send bones, with-her, Lady of the Lake.

Up under, I waver, to muster, true.
The flare, her hair, a glisten, to my boon.
I sunder, she plunders, my heart, too soon.
The sun, undone, for once, I feel—anew.