I rested on him,
And breathed in his,
A strong scent of musk
*** and hummus
Mixing with our intermingling
Sweat.

Pouring out was this,
His and mine,
When those freckled knuckles
Slid through
The veneer between us
And into clarity; I gasped

And held on,
Knowing
We would end
As all things do,
In a tiny death
Between us.

I’m lonely
Purposeless
Afraid
Of an empty future
Where every day slides by
Me, an existential malaise growing
Bigger by the hour, swallowing down sadness
With a new, shiny app and the latest distraction;
Calling my self an artist
And a lover
And a friend
Without ever feeling art
Or love
Or friendship.
Just this;

The fading of my eyes’ light
A whispering into my ears
“This is justice
For what you’ve become.”

You can write a poem
In a thousand different ways.

Here, I laid the words out
In prose, like one long rope

Unknotted, with the knowledge
That I will look back

And cut the cords
According to how

I wish to sing.

Slip your fingers in,
I’m needing.

Spread my lips
Apart to breath.
Give

And fill
This frame;

I’m dying.