45*21

The Master is in the wind
he sleeps little
The Master dreams of sleep
in daytime hours
The Mistress is the muse
but not at all common
The Mistress is not the concubine
but the siren song
A measure of everyone's life
slips away with slither
We hold our breath tightly
to keep the wind
Side way glances aside
they always melt
And who is the muse when
when all is disaster
Inside and out, all the same
turmoil, disease and death
The poison pen know no poison
The drinker of absinthe with hoary cold (fingers)
the wind blows down shuttered alley way