Beauty

Quite busy seems she to be,
tied up in alt-reality.

Quite a while since we embraced;
since fire's flame made embers race,
first flying then alighting;
ashes from the altar answer:
familiar's face once held ablaze,
forgotten now, in darkness bathed.

We feign a fantasy illusion,
distractions dressed in convolution,
to hide from view our dissolution;
eyes shut, wide open to confusion.

When beauty visits,
will we remember and receive?
Or is it forsook, the love we partook:
true reality?

When beauty visits,
will machination divide us?
Will we have adapted and contracted:
a calloused iris?

Will we even see
the dawning of our kairos?

She must be so busy these days,
occupied with alt-reality...

Perhaps she's nearer than I think,
nearer than I can believe.
Perhaps she's occupied with me,

... and I'm just too blind to see.