Your image in my eye

dries and dies;

what could live in this desert place of mine?

One day you’ll have the death of me

splattered all over your stark-white shirt

the most soft and tender breath

could be lost on your face.



-She’s sitting between crumbled sheets,

bones squeaking like a cat;

the illusion of happiness-



I could never stitch you back

head and heart and limbs together

properly joined-

it would take more than my life

to make you whole again.