I spoil mother blackness, fouling shadows, my breath.
A soul is to be tasted thickly,
not swallowed pure to sickly.
My face is dried in brine, hands clutching your cold.
You final kissed the stories in my heart. I grow old.
My mind is wet pooling place,
emotions molten staircase.
Keep my compassion whispers yearning your seas.
Pithy layerings are painted permanently freeze.
You are my one reference.
You made me a difference.
I would kiss your goodbye to taste, with salt tears,
my agony at your other happiness, brings the fears
my life is emptiness ravines.
I will grow older, hole scenes.
Tomorrow is my memories theatre, part the curtain.
You remain, my, dear dreaming, but I cannot certain
what in death is real peace.
I line the nest sallow fleece.
I walk the slicing wire, clutching your face, with no light
to hint reflections. You, weeping-etched my poor sight.
I wish you, your lover's power.
Be content, pick all the flowers.
I will stay with throbbing knees,
Picking the pieces to cut me.
� 2000 DPMcClellan
