The Emptiness of Self

Flashes behind the eyes
—at the back of the mind—
images of her sallow face,
or the haunting c r a c k
of four aspirin against glass…

A Love’s Labours

In the distance
b e t w e e n
lingers a love’s labours
lost to time and silence,

Lay Down My Bones

And when I am dead
lay down my bones—
rest my head—in that place
where my heart resides:
in that tiny corner of England,

Torching Daisies [II/II]

    Upstairs, he found her standing like some angelic apparition in her white summer dress; sunlight streaming in through the broken windows illuminating her figure in a half-light. 

“Come here,” she said softly, in longing. 

  With touches he found her to be very much flesh and bone. Between kisses, she whispered a truth to him she had long kept to herself: “The absence of you has been devastating to me—like nothing I ever wish to experience again.”

  At this, his soft, gentle kisses became rough and impatient, until they found themselves on the floor, entangled.