weaving art from dreams
insomnia threading string
expelling passions depart
leaving eyes dry, head numb
tired from heart's extremes

guilty like a lush wet from a fling
flattery took over, I succumbed
to a muse's playful gleam

brushing off yesterday's bad
a walk of shame fit for a King
fingers a comb for greasy coif
I take my role as one colonnade
supporting a structure in my stand

natural gazes redden cheeks to blush
scoff at innuendos in a telling way
until all assume my secret shame

bad yesterdays off brushing
dreams from art weaving