i was content.

save for the absence of a familiar voice, a tell tale trail of words, strewn, scattered. causing to sway & list in their wake the tiny strands in my ears a warm wind billowing a clean sheet winnowed from the bed. wet cloud borne singing its ancient song through branches trunks soiled linens on the line. sliced by a million green blades that leave no mark upon bare feet. feet worn smooth by a thousand caresses a thousand kisses. blessed by gnarled grimy palms/fingers & cracked tear-stained lips.

so instead i clung to my pillow. a poor surrogate. tattered. all lumps & misshapes. a ragged bag of meat & bone that at one time i guess looked like you. & under cold light & the dark that hangs precariously above all of our heads felt like you if i tried hard enough long enough/is enough.

i was content.

my clumsy left hand felt its way through a maze of hardened, dry flesh & found the one thing that seemed yet alive. blood flowed no more through/from the heart instead pooled between these trunks of stone on which once i had planted roots of quartz, crystallized & stood tall. my warmth was all i knew, all i needed. was all. i was content. for who needs more? i came on my stomach. i left it there, but wiped clean my hand. i let the cracks in the cold granite of my temple imbibe/reabsorb the life that lay there til it had turned cool cold coldest & clung to me like moss. creeping even now towards any last bastion of salvation. though so salivous lascious salacious holding it closer than the holy beads on your breast. i slept restlessly. awoke to what i thought was yet a dream dreamed what i thought was yet real...





(bleh)
















ae.