i would like to stand beside kathryn burke.
well
only if You
can promise
it wouldn't hurt.

a promise: is a
promise: and You
promised: You would.

i would just be happy
if she would sit beside me
on a park bench
under a sky
as absent, as dark
as the black lace that chased
her skin

and even if You were
really dead and gone,
(or so says Nietzsche,
a fact i still find hard to believe)
even then,
i wouldn't mind.
as long as that rib
was returned to my side.

then i wouldnt be so half-
empty.
so inside:
out.

then maybe the mirror
would bare an image to me.

boy, i'd finally be living!

who would of thought
a sorry lot
like me
would be
a **** worth giving?

surely
none of the Lords
that are still
living?

but a promise: is a
promise:
and she always

promises.

like those pretty eyes of hers
i couldn't keep

in pockets full of posies

kathryn burke?

does it hurt?

to stand, to sit, to lay
beside me?