The Lizard

I am a lizard in your trees,
My skin is cold and brittle,
But I shed fires underneath
When forge my wreath of riddle.

I brisk about on the branch
Basking in playing games,
My tail whips seconds as I arch
My back, but I am tame.

I’m bare-rhymed at the love gate:
No words to build the stairways
Of beauty dying in arcades
Of numb desires in a daze.

Disfeatured faces in review
Fade on th’ amalgam of my eyes -
I can reflect them all but you
Remain unmirrored in disguise.


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