Wednesday, June 23, 2010


When I return alone home,
morning, afternoon, evening, night,
when ever
what ever
how ever

no one
. . . . . . is there . . . . ever
no one

silence undances with a skindeep shadow
reflected from an unsilvering memory.

I bed my brokenmess
cocooning the pillow
soft but unbreathing
yielding but unwarming
the unthreading remains of love
pulled up to my kissless lips
grow thinner
as night grows colder
as I turn
and curl
into a foetal question mark.

1 comment:

Rainbow Stardust said...

Yeah; I know what you mean.