Well,
another appalling day plays at stalling my way
to hover over my lover's shoulder.
I told her
that I'm afraid.
And I am
afraid of that day's parade fading only into lonely shade,
attoning homely blade that combs away the place
in me
where she
stays.
She said
the dead are always wanting,
and if my blur were to haunt her saunter
she'd be forever forgiving.
Besides,
I'm living and
at her side.
We walk through dark parks
in midnight light and mark
our territory glorious,
furious storytelling swelling in our bellies.
She is telling me
the names that stain her veins, ashamed,
and how they became mine.
I walk faster to leave them behind.
Have you seen the air?
Comments
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Wow
A darkly lit alley where I might meet again with the dead, "always wanting". This is awesome.
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