Tricksters of a Memory

I love polygons even as they are irregular Within the tangled space and time Rich angles become decisive corners Tricksters of a memory It was tender congruency at first sight Delightful and captivating solid cubes Even as they drooped into prisms As they vanished into hues of essence They trembled at degrees of tender touch Fear not trapeziums of death Dread not time exhumed from a tomb She falls in upright squarish Die, pentagon, rest hexagonal pretty rod Wither on decagon fading acuteness Oval memory is with cylindrical insight Beauty weeps bulkiness of the volume