i.
Love has nothing
to do with it
the poke
and the jab of it
feels damn good
for the hell of it
to be like this
without wanting it
soft and gentle
and tip-toeing-it
around the truth
of what it really is.
ii.
In her eyes
he travels far from home,
lives on what he finds
and it is enough.
She tastes like
virgin rain,
filtered through the pain he
is drinking on
the rocks
so he rolls
into her,
stares into her,
and folds the corners
of her life
into his
for another day.
iii.
He was almost
everything she needed
almost the day
she wanted
to live over again
if she could
live again
without interruption.
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