I have begun to grow dull,
Blurry and faded,
Like the shadow of a face
Lost in the distance
At the corner of an out of focus photo.
The tart juice of vexation
Failed to illicit the familiar pucker
Of plump, pink lips,
Yet the gravelly bray
Of inappropriately timed laughter
Was absent from the soundtrack of my day.
I wait for the haze,
Which slowly descends
Across the valley of my temperance,
To ultimately shroud my ability to dread
The deterioration of fervor.