Like light to blind eyes
or the sun to the night,
he strives.

Like needles to Cobain
or ***** to Bukowski,
he wanes.

She sighs in his dreams
on the verge of sleep,
he gleans.

Shes there, he tastes her
soft skin on his mind's lips,
he's sure.

The wrench tightens
and twists,
his heart pounds
in remembrance,
and his hands
reach for
nothing.