Visage.

Fingers fiddle, huddled in slow drizzle,
selfish rain! muffled in frozen frames;
the hands, overcoming cognizance,
with a mackerel sky, subdued in dampen.

For raindrops are testimony to these eyes,
of what would've been a beaming sun;
retreating par the eagle's nest
weakened, amenable to unlearn.

It isn't deluge that stops us short,
serving volleys, which often disagree.
Its an indignant weight, a parrot's bait
while those digits immersed - evaporate.

Stairs.

The tint's pale, every morning's drill;

inasmuch as she's concerned?

Ruing hands 'ave killed, day-spring's thrill,

what's left to be unlearnt?

Lots! Teach this naive rat nice,

don't let spill the poison;

for in tepid summers, it eats weather thin,

slicing within her hamstring.

Now he won't relent, her will to win,

broken in their vacuous themes;

a means to wither hopeless clutter,

its her efficacious whims, screaming.

Evening disquiet, disarray climbs us down,

canvassing the miserable watercolor gray.

A frame still lays, unequally smeared in skin,

and charcoal slaying mutual chagrin.