I miss the feeling of her spine like the mud misses its swine. Essential and right, rotten and ripe, the love boils over this melting ***.  I am lost, never to be found, I had a caretaker once but by my blood she was drowned.

I pick up soil and scoff, as if nature could get it right. How could it when it throws me through the unending plight. Empty does as empty is, like a broken string or an empty hymn, I listen for something true. But it is not there because life's unfair, and strips you of what you love.

But you'll never know if the world did null, what you thought you needed. Or was it your overbearing self, or the liquor on the top shelf that changed this love to fleeted.

It won't make sense, till you're gone from suspense and all the air escapes the dying lungs. I pray for this like an Angels kiss but no longer expect that mercy.