Patron Saint of Lunatics
He remembers a time when moonlight
adorned her silken flesh; her lustrous
hair spun webs around him.
She was an infusion of delicate flowers.
An elixir for his lips alone. Intoxicating.
By day, she wandered the cloistered garden
gathering foxglove and forget-me-nots.
By night, she mixed potions to help erase
the deep-seated fear, they both shared.
When the witch rediscovered her whereabouts,
she jealously turned her heart to stone.
Leaving him with an insatiable thirst.
His tune turned to the ranting of a madman.
Years liquefy, seep beneath
the cobblestone footpath
which once led to their fairytale tower.
He clutches a rope of Rapunzel’s hair;
yearns for its scent of poetry in rain.
Moans into an empty glass,
when he finds truth at the bottom of it.