The smell of wood polish;
sprayed unevenly on the counter top,
brought you back to life.
Back down from heaven and earth into my mind,
where you had evaded me for the longest time.
An aroma of you.
My Great Grandma.
The Greatest Grandma,
I smelt that wood polish and your memory came alive again.
For one final time.
I closed my eyes,
I was a child,
and it was almost like
you came back to life.

I have been
nothing before
and while I prefer
to be something
to you
zero
is a perfect circle
the beginning
the end
one seamless strand
made whole

breathe me in
my bittersweet taste
encompasses your tongue
the memory
of me
lingers
on your tastebuds
crave me again
crave me always

breathe me out
exhale
as I pleasure myself
I arch my back
inside the curls
of your white smoke clouds
enchanting you
to have more of me
begging you
to play with me again

I am the best
you'll ever have
I'll send waves
of *******
throughout your being
more than anyone else
without me
the *** will always be a bore
I am your delight
the tighter my hold on you
the more you need it

I'll never leave you
my body is yours
you couldn't get away
even
if you wanted to

no one to talk to, here,
in the middle of terse words and resentment,
for they should hear, and be heard,
once or twice or many voices calling from
alleys limbs concrete the hard parking lots
filled with Mercedes
and shiny wheels and 400 horses
power the wheel around again
from roads only walked
felt discovered in hard
journeys
in journals and scribbles ranted
from the tops of billboards
while people cars and cellular
things rush by fast
text this to the last person or dove
the last scion of human being
left in the pile of
white undying
petroleum
crud cups
from McDonald's as
the skinny fries sizzle

I see you in the morning,
sleep-bagged eyes
ring tired resignation

Snailed backpack
containing all you hold
in frost-nipped dawn.

Your terrible freedom
appeals, appals
in simple ferocity.

Come rest in my cave
on the western cliff
until the globe revolves
to warmer evenings.

A man you are
king of the lousy road.

My heart yearns
for that earnest seeking