Jamie Puhi Poet I do not know?

Outcasted Beau In Foggy London Town

A flame of enigma bellowed in the pit of his belly,

its' seraphic luster so stout.

It peered through the windows of his body,

through dark stagnant eyes that rest mounted on his face,

so carved and clencted.

I blanched in its' brillance.

That flame so haunting,

it raptured the faint walls that buckled my heart,

making it whole.

So cold in stanse.

But now its' pulsing lay intweened with another outcasted heart.

One that had been expelled from the keen and glaciared persons,

whom walked down the breech streets of a banning commonalty.

My arms knew exactly how to clutch him,

wrap him in a pillowed comfort that masked my flesh.

For my arms,

what rest in them was a soul whom alike was overcomed and mangled.

He rested in them,

so alive in fresh freedom of an apprehending paramour whom could nod and weep to the 
consternated apologues of his youth and future comings of a man.

And that's what traced the adulation in his blood.

Giving him the daring attuide to oust me bare,

broadcasting the truth that barked and howled behind false inhibitions,

a veal of empathy,

And if you're alone

and I'm alone

lets be alone

together

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