Arise the Picaresque

Arise the Picaresque..

I see the words fall from your lips,
and I spirit them away.
You said they were not of worth,
could sometimes go astray.

At night I brush your gold grey mane,
and steal a little more.
You laugh as I hurried to hide,
contempt knocking me to the floor.

Could I scribe a poem,
with words made from your hair.
Maybe write the love song,
with your smile always there.

Correct me if I’m wrong,
but stall me not.
I’m trying now to be strong,
asking what we forgot.

When you need to close the book,
as your eyes begin to tire.
I could live within that look,
cradled in your sleepy desire.

For us only too adore,
the winds of loch and glen.
Would we be wasting it’s beauty,
if never known to other men.

But if I could capture a glen’s glory,
and hold it, for you alone.
That it could make you understand,
without your love I am as stone.

Some day while acting at risqué,
then cleverly disguising my form.
Pertaining moves of arabesque,
rising picaresque from the norm.