False Document Of Your Flesh, (Love Letters To A Lady Of Renown) Poem by Captain Cur

Marooned by inadequacy near ocean's end
I take inventory of what's left of my pride
with the nature of a magician I pretend
not to notice that I have vanished from your eyes.
Where do I find solace in this forgotten time
with thoughts of you, each newfound second in retreat,
my distance measured by the lonesomeness of mind
and the power of the fall crushing me beneath.

Dear Lady,
loquacious in your speech,
smoldering tyranny controls the purse strings
that you reach, and what speaks truer
in your domain than the heartlessness
in which you have used me for your gain;
shipwrecked with trails of loyalties blood,
features that once enticed me age from view,
repatriated by the false document of your flesh,
your Queenly note holds no promise
less lovely than the rest.