craving inner
silence..
but dreams mostly
of violence,
wakes up to own
scratches..
clutching a book
of matches,
yet rises to
face..
the
quietness,
a lioness,
she is.
shadow play
absence grips
on tightly,
thoughts of your
warmth
remind
me..
how
to feel-
with empty
space
beside
me..
but never
inside.
too many
angels
for sinner to
handle,
one hand cups
a candle,
the other gets
burned–
in healing’s the lesson
learned.
the waiting
room-
a loaded
queue,
all doom and
gloom,
called to a
room,
rushed out a
door..
without the cure that
i’d hoped
for.
untethered the
summers..
laid shaded
in shame,
flattened by rainclouds
we could never
tame,
unshackled the
remnants
of steel round
our ankles–
thankful for a break
in the grey.
what might we
have done,
were we to know
the now?
more dry
sweat
on
furrowed
brow?
where would we
have flown
with wings fully
grown..
and how?
stippled ceilings-
prickly feelings in
the depths,
quickened
breaths,
headlights gloss
a window
pane-
sweat stains an
unmade
bed.
the loaded
mouth-
a heavy
head
above heart plump
with blind
regret,
the softest
tongue-
a mind
restrained,
heart calmed and
free to beat
again.
she waltzed into
my thoughts..
then took
a bow,
if only i had
the drive
to
dance
that i do
now.
a guilty moment
met with
shame
for last place
finish
in
game day
race,
but i did
show-
no need to
hide..
my face.
hands in the garden 
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