Yes, I am nowhere near me
Ghostly guts, a tear-gas eye
Watery, blurry, glassy
Empty shell of an hourglass
Yet my soul sands still can see
A boisterous love that I
Only find petty, prissy
Through the white scattered mass
Of that blank body you blessed
I’d rather levitate than feel
This past present of peace pressed
Against my longing lips and heal
With a flask of forgetfulness
I’d rather be true to my pulse
Than break it all on an impulse
Leaving the once-too–happy shell
In a now dim and ***** dell

For this is in sorrow only
That you’re around yours truly.

November 17, 2015
Villeurbanne