Thought of you spills
like the sea caught in a steel tumbler  
Each time strangers speak your name
And the cigarette smoke that is seeping
a chosen death through my lungs
Cannot quench you.

This is sweet pain:
sweet and desiccating, all plum stone, apricot seed

Patterns in the dark are drawn and
the world turns like roasting corn upon the coals of magical machines
and everyone is being pulled, heartstrings looped and
knotted together in golden electric lines

Such states crave ending in love and light. Something wholesome, mild and true.
Yet one thought stays splinter-wise:
I cannot reach you...