I hide
In rooms
Cold and spacious

Sleep is a hunter
Triggered
and mendacious

Through cracks
In crevices
Here I am

Studying the arts & architecture
Of historically
Dead mayhem

Affixed and frozen
To the ceiling
Of my head

Where twisted thoughts
Grin signature
Red

I can quote
All sorts
Of useless things

But none so urgent as prayers
In escaping what
My polar opposite brings

When the
naked branches
blew in
the late
autumn winds,
our love died.
How I long
for the days
of spring,
when all was
alive with
newness.
We lay beneath
the willow tree
and dined on wine,
bread and love.
God,
how I miss you.