her.
        eyeless enigma.

she chasing another listener.

another one tied to fraility
   trying to face the lid-less night,

constellations swarming with his
     questions.

she.

      kindred tornado.

inspiration's explosive alleyway.

she has left me for another.

  left me here.

    sullen, chiseled out,
a hidden sculpture leaking blood.

stuffed in silk,    since the last time  

             she was here.

    where does she hide or linger?

her ghost words waiting in a unseen library waiting for my thoughts to scroll through endless imagination.

muse of the stabbing spruce.

blinking in and out.

I am dejected out into ghost town rain, not even an insect to look at.

she is gone.

my eyes void of color, claws shred the page, she left me, dulled with hangdog drift.

where is she?

shadowing a hitman?

running wild through the next Picasso ear?

how does she imagine me?

  a conflicted whisper outcasted in rain.

where. where. where did she go?

swishing leaves up into the miracle blue air with another.

towering perceptive ideas into the fingers of grace,

flowing down the anxious page smashing mediocre left and right.

**** her. bless her.

she.  

    a butterfly threading golden silk.

her mystery bonding with the population of every Galaxy.

I was rested when she left.

when she returns

  she will not recognize me.

my frazzled hair.  my hotmess trainwreck. my burned up furniture smoldering into the carpet.

Me.

on a rooftop  scrubbing through starlight like my skylight of dreams.

if I wait with patience of Job.

will she sunrise burst me

in fountain light

falling through me

like that lover who exists in the 5th dimension.

rocking my world with pure fire thunder.