Wish Upon A Morning Star

Wait for him --
This is the whispered, fervent, pitiful wish
on the lips of fawning virgins
and old maids still playing hard to get
They are venerated masters of their respected games.

It is, to tell the truth, a bitter nod to foolish pride
inane romantic philosophies crooned in an unfiltered grey space
It is apparent -- common sense has been led astray
on the dirty leash of yesterday's lusty dreams.

Pick up, hang on, listen, pulse -- Understand him, make precious time
out of sheltered nuances of dainty minutes and a finite moment
Illusions and words of promise hang themselves
on desperate gossamer threads of questionable sanity
It's the hope of callow wishes on pink lips and blushing cheeks.

Hang up -- ashen while saccharine sentiments burrow like feeble mice
in the inmost sanctum hope slinks
it weighs heavy and the follicle of optimism
nestles and loves the satisfaction of a dream deliciously consumed

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