One More Day Of A False Spring, It Would Seem

Last night, as I withdrew
from the plastic souvenir, ("freedom, wasted light!")
I realized the orphan had run off again
and I wondered where I would find him (this time)
if I should debate another sunrise.

It's not even love's opposite:
I need your porcelain jewelry
gleaming from the half maw
dancing in your dahlia
and the honeycomb of endings which haven't come, yet.