Hot tears stream down raw caverns of flesh,
Simmering as they soak into sleeve and shirt,
Drenching an already heavy corpse in memory and loss.
Black. Black is the fist which punches
Blood around a hopeless shell; hollowed from months of false hope.Of neglect.
Accept it. Accept it and drag your ravaged frame from one day to the next
In hope that future tides will engulf and lift
Spirits, and bring a renaissance of passion for an acquaintance new.
Stare into the night and awaken alone, as the brain screens
Images of your rose, hastily plucked and put on display
By a rotund bachelor with words of new tides.
Alas, a happy moment think I will never exist,
In the absence of her electric lips.
