The look in your eyes
hooks me,

taking me back to the days
of my grandfathers, dark
whiskey in hip-flasks kept close
to their chests, eating tinned fruit
and singing to warm themselves up
on cold nights

I remember the sound of their voices,
thick and throaty, as if forty
cigarettes a day had eaten
into their chords

I wear their blazers sometimes,
Over a red dress, imagining myself
before they thought of me

wondering if they felt the rain fall
on their face as blood washed the
souls of their shoes

I know that your green eyes
are searching my face for signs and
similarities, the past threatening to
seep through the open pores
of my skin

I am corrupted

we lie, tangled.
her body and mine.
motionless, fingertips
to skin.

the voice inside my head
no longer speaks

weary of missing just one word.
or worse, breaking the silence.

it's truly perfect.

flashback

she called for the first time in a few months.

"Hi." She said.
"Hey, what's up?" I ask.
"Just got off work, wanna come over?"
"Sure."

flash-forward

she knew exactly what I would say
and it always ends the same.

the thought of her, replacing what
some call sleep, had almost rested.
now, here i am.. too late or too
early into the morning,
thinking of her and writing
to ease my trembling hand.

I am a
figure of speech
for the permanent solution
of a temporary problem.

you were the universe
expressing it's depression.

oh,
how concerned you
certainly always
were.
in total shambles-
I anxiously awaited
as time cleverly excluded you.

I now face this hurling semi alone.