Selfishly in the night I raise you from the dead.
each suture cleanly picked, caressed and bled
until I'm lost. I wake to pink skies.
Gray memories call behind me: tentacular smoke
pulling, insisting, towards you, and hell.
but you were one for ice, not fire.

If I turn quickly I can still see it:
'two skinny long-hairs' in an empty hall
blushing, secret, tripping into a kiss
knocking together and  sliding past innocent days.
I didn't blame you, naturally, but there's
blood on your hands and you still have my things.

So I close my eyes again and sail for another day,
another night to miss you, to watch you fall grain
by unnoticed grain in a sandglass.
already the light has changed and you no longer glow.
it is a cruel hope, but I know I shall awake
and one day, find no lover, only dust.