Books
Poetry/Lyrics
Essays
Is It Here
I am lost,
adrift,
in a listless crawl.
A ghost in a crowd.
Unmissed by all.
Near loves...
Near loves pass by,
in pity, at my state
of isolation,
and pain displayed;
painted, written,
exposed, naked.
Is it here, this love
they mention?
This gift, I felt once I think.
I think...
Is it there, somewhere,
waiting..?
Does she wait
for fate like me?
Will it be?
To reach through time
and brush her skin.
To desire sacrifice.
To give,
before I die.
To kiss damp eggshell sky,
and know love.
What day, hour, year?
My skin in soft folds.
Hands red shine old.
My sex cold.
What use then, love?
What date, what time?
What colour?
I see, others.
I see, the rest.
Each drawn out day
I grow more grey.
Become dust,
and stone.
From limbo,
I watch alone.
|
