the culmination
of passion - disappointment
and ***-stained bedding

water droplets mean
nothing to windshield wipers
one swipe and they're gone

the moon can wink
I swear it's true
at least I think
it winked at you
I wish the sun
could wink as well
but on the sun
it's hot as hell
and with that heat
his eyes are closed
and cannot open
I suppose

passive indulgence
over, under, and again
never dying down

silence in the skies
plumage floats in little tufts
great cat stalks away

smiles fade
into empty couch
cushions
late nights
talking about
the future
reduced to
the idea
that change
is only
natural
gum wrappers
litter the floor

     "would you like
      a piece?"

perhaps
but offers
made on winter
nights hold
no
relevance
now the sun
exists
burning my eyes
as I roll off
the couch
the impression
of that
emptiness
clinging to
half of
my face

it would be nice to
be French - no one would expect
you to be friendly