with you
i pick my words
from tall trees.
unripe,
not ready for eating.

an old sadness
comes from
the wind flutes
of time
i am flown
to a place
that belongs to me
and i alone.
only there can i understand
the mathematics
involved in a
slow dance,
the jazz and
the blues
between
sea and sky -

your shadow
rests on my window.
a requiem of
our sweet and slow -
beginning.
a glimpse of eternity -
a warm september
evening.

this night
holds the anger of
what should be,
faint hopes of
what should have been,
the reluctant
acceptance
of what is,
the heavy,
long
pause
that

it’s a love-hate relationship
with the loneliness
that engulfs -
your soul.

at first,
the taste in your tongue
is bile,
that is bitter.
you try to spit
but you’re forced
to swallow.

in time,
you learn to crave,
the trickle of blood
coming from your heart.
not red, but black
as