Big Red

Interims eternal across a frame of mind

Presented in crooked grins along straight time

Lines radial, fringing pupils full

Of empty-spaced canvas to hold golden-laced soul

Or mirror the bewilderment

Of the first flawless moments reigned only over by raw emotion

Moved to fruition

As actualization

Where roman candles envy one such the explosion

Wide-eyed as well-red

Red-head child stalls at the threshold

To a substantially-sized Library's double—cherrywood, wide—doors

Familiar in its awesome novelty

His arms cradle leather bind of a twisted fable

She'd not been fore consciously capable

In suggesting either of them read;

Now, the confidence amongst this caravansary

Poised in the grips of each glance—

By which she appraises his company's casualty—

Sits so very strangely comfortable

Atop the shoulders of their History

Being that, latterly,

Proven to be merely a Prologue