Being your slave, what should I do but tend
Upon the hours and times of your desire?
I have no precious time at all to spend,
Nor services to do, till you require.
Nor dare I chide the world-without-end hour,
Whilst I, my sovereign, watch the clock for you,
Nor think the bitterness of absence sour
When you have bid your servant once adieu.
Nor dare I question with my jealous thought
Where you may be, or your affairs suppose,
But, like a sad slave, stay and think of naught
Save where you are, how happy you make those.
    So true a fool is love that in your will,
    Though you do any thing, he thinks no ill.

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Let me rest in the arms of slumber,
For my palanquin has arrived.

Decorated with white lilies,
Let it be carried by its bearers.

Today I'm the bride and my groom is Patiently waiting,
I can see him smile.

In his mysterious smile, I know
I've lived a beautiful life.

Writing the body. So the mind can rest.

All this...religion. The temple of self. The ego love. The largest love of all.
Seize.
Behold.
My massive, incomparable grief.

For a body.

For your mind haunts, and stalks my ego. Staying all night in window.
Relishing my grasp, my reach, my longest arm.
Strong. It holds on beyond the grave.
To your flickering mind.
Wick burning down.
Slow. It releases from my hand.
And falls to the floor.
Enveloping the room. The house. The woods. The world. The ego.

From space, the ego looks blue. Holding breath.
Purging lungs. No air, none of that, stay away please.
We don't need air we need love.
Seas.
Turn red.
Like glass, stained with the salt.

From my body.

Nothing is left. So much nothing. Nothing everywhere.
Not even candlelight can warm. No need.
No need.
None.
One last violent spasm? For old times sake?
Please.
Come back.
And kiss me one last time.

Then...stop.
Calm down.
Just rest.
In this.
This is.
It is.
All this.
This all.
This is it.
All this is.
It.
Is.
All.

Sleep.

Me too.

No me.

All.


Sleep.










Love.

Gone.
I think...
Used to be right here.
I swear...
Let me check in the back,
Like lungs on shredded feet.
The rocking chair,
Nervous air still swings
...temporarily discarded, that's all.
On the couch cushion,
Here's his book of adventures
The laughter is unmistakable.
Yes I remember the sounds,
Have I seen?
Can I get you anything?
Of course I'm happy to help.
DON'T SIT THERE, that's an antique-
Enjoy the still air, untouched-
No, it's no worry, come on in
The one holding his kitten tight.
Who wanted to save the princess?
Where is the boy in this photograph?

They don't realize i'm not fine.
That I hate myself and I want to die
They only see the child they used to know
Without realizing i'm now completely a different person.


© Leigh