her face a bold echo of all she left behind
a slow symphony of nasty things that linger in her mind
she lives them over and over
in the off color technical vision
of an artist trying on her own guises for a adventure
the night crawls over her thigh
lodges in the warm wet of her fingers
and spreads into the windows
grey fades into black

the slow devolution
into the jaundiced eye
into the nicotine stained tapping fingers as she impatiently
waits for words that can never be spoken aloud
the slow desire for tears
so deep and immediate that its a bible to the lonely soul
and her senses deny you
even as you touch the door
even as you evaporate down the hall
melt yourself into the humid night
so fair is her face that you live each of thouse seconds in dire regret
so fair is her touch that you must lean on your last breath
to let go

the night crawls
in her bed clothes
laying its fetid eggs
like a stain of pollution tender and sickly sweet
its insect face bitter staring from her soul
now i see you

you escape over and over
door
hall
humid night
door
hall
humid night
but you never leave

narrow her eye jaundiced and rancid
lay open for the world to see and be seen by
and she molds him to the stain of her hurt
deep impressions over the years leaves him little room to
wiggle wiggle worm, wiggle wiggle worm