Never Meet the Maker

Unto a dive I go; I crawl, I creep
   Her lustre shining brighter in the eve
Visage provoked a feeling in the deep
  And if I press the throw, she may bereave
The diff’rence here is one provoked by terms
  But abstract words pollute my gushing soul
Releasing dormant care perceived as germs
  A breakfast poured before a shaky bowl
And should she touch I know I don’t know why
  The quaver seen, disguising proper place
The bootstrapped battles turning out a sigh
  Reveal commiserating face, sere pace
Middling shadows flocking for the light
I hope two hands departing in the night

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