Untitled Poem by Ewan Paterson

Contorted to the stillness of an abstract statue
I spent hours countering the balance between
beauty and desire.

Through blinks of madness and perception
I sought to capture any splashes in your
silhouette.Spilled from distilled regret
as templates to etch the impossible
hope of possession upon.

My fiction contained behind
talentless bars of truth

Haunted by the 'poor benefit of a bewitching
minute' and brief pleasure chorused by Poulenc's
eternal pain. I belittle the grace of your festivity
in vocabularies fluid smeared stain.