Dawn:
Quiv’ring
we dissolve in cotton sheets;
Clinging
we fight our body’s resurrection;
Breathing
our fresh-baked bodies break apart;
Sweating
I surrender my reflection.

Like sleep
you rub our crumbs from distant eyes;
Like blood
your face and fingers clog my heart;
Like wine
your blood leaves stains inside my bed;
Like smoke
from still red ashes you depart.

I lose your eyes
to louder thoughts and garish hollow laughter;
I lose your ears
to brighter sounds and shrill atomic glare;
I lose your face
to distant lands and yet you lie beside me;
I lose my faith
in who you are and dreams that we both share.

Day:
But domesticity rears up and throws me from my high horse.
Stand up, kiss lips, sit down, stand up – each day like any other:
A viscous smog of moments storm like sharply buzzing locusts
devo’ring each thought, word and deed; and what I failed to do.

Dusk:
“I’m bored of talking – kiss me”
“But I-” …was not.
And so I lie.
Again.
I make the right noises
and touch your skin
and peer down at us
through your glistening body
to my pale face
and I meet my vacant gaze:
Empty.
Hollow.
Alone.

The small hours:
Love is not a many splendid thing.
no sparkling crystal
nor gentle rose.
Love is a fist in the dark.
a tyranny of absurdity
a struggle against reality.