"Death and Love,"
he said. Something caught
between his lips killed me
as he spoke.
His eyes were ashy,
clouded by a puff of smoke.
I could see them though,
dead centers,
exposed
in love suspended.
And then he said,
"They mean the same thing."
"I know,
I think I'm
Starting to learn."
A chord trembles in his voice,
and I can imagine him
screaming,
hear him even,
when I see the words.
He's exposed and hidden,
choking on all the things
he can't write fast enough.
But they go to the page
and radiate from
his throat,
as his eyes go wild-
finally.
He's on the verge of death
and curses love.
The cigarette is
burnt down,
but there are
other things to do.
and he runs off,
leaving end smoke
on my clothes.
