in a lurch, on a perch of impossible spring
i confessed to a winter
that sent you
to me

i could do
with much less
than the nothing
you bring
if you loved all the blood
that i let you
drink

if you
killed  me, more gently
than leaving
me be...

or
forgot
how to
come back
from
nowhere,
it
seems...

that a
beautiful curse
on my
head
is your thing

and an eye
less  evil
is only
an
eye
i can't
see.