Hibiscus

You loved as I did, as I still do,
You lived,I believed you wanted to.
Our sleepwalking hours, by heaven's gates where
We would mock and swear at old Saint Peter.

We are all rich men, here, camels through the eye of
Needles. Give me money and your poor reasoning,
I cried out: 'give me fire! Fire! Fire!
Drench me in the waters of Eden'.

At night I hear you breathing, as I sleep on beds of
Roses, with the rats, the lice, the rags
Your gifts of posies, warding off Lord Death,
His offerings of the warmer climate we desired.

I am forever in your debt, in your prison
Sipping water from your cup, I sip your poison,
It slips, laughing while it falls free oh witch,
you cast your spells, For they,

for they will never work their ways on me.
Olivia, the dead are only your frinds
because they cannot be your lovers, only air
invades the skin that covers the body that you hated.

I am only skilled in talking nonsense

Imperceptible, as truth, I know.
That old joke is on you, and I laugh
Until my bones rattle, lose their marrow,
Become brittle, become dry. There are no tears in this room.

Only photographs perused by one hard eye,
The other is underneath and skin of your
Leisure, your god in the hibiscus. Your
Favourite perfume and the air is full of it.

Mixed with the smoke from out my lungs, the
Hacking cough from my black throat. I appreciate what
Is to be a shadow. We saw white, the colour
Seemed to breathe with its own splendour

Yes, I do remember you. Robin, Olivia,
For you there was no such thing as
Dignity or honour. And I loved you for it,
So unrestrained, as the rain is in the summer.

You picked your favourite parts of life
With a magpie's keening eye, I swoop
Down to catch that memory, but it flees,
It sprints, is runs from me, right by.

Faster now, I go, chasing the shadows,
But I am not the grey one, rather bright yellow
And I trip in cracks in pavements, to
The laughter of the passers by.

The sound catches in my throat, for in this
Room there is no laughter, but no one cries.
Rather there is breathing, and steady ticking
Of the hour. And I am so aware of the passing of each hour.