you glisten in the sunlight,
and glow in the moonlight,
you're my compass,
my direction in life,
the beat in my heart,
and the sparkle in my eyes.

Sing your song from inside
   your drug coma like a dead
   Billie Holiday from a grave
   sing like Sirens from bed.

This old poet poses with his worn out lines.
Tender poetry of youth and love's beginnings,
faltering steps beyond puberty's uncertainty.

I've pounded my love on typewriters, each letter
has a part to play in this drama with a weight
all its own. Smash a key and it opens old wounds.

I pound Kathy Cindy Betsy Karen Georgine Terry
Lynette and my final keys are JAYNE.
It spells my final breath named Tia.