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Click hereBeginnings creep - no purpose, or ends to be known.
Toil, the spiral, of what cannot be held.
Dry… Creases that worm - Gaps of the arid,
Dampness be damned! Found only in tears,
amid tacky scratches… will there be blood?
Cold, alone, old.
What to fear most, losing me, or losing you?
Not to recognize or know.
Lower my head. Just let it fall.
Photographs that should have remained, of clearer days,
Memories! Memories?
As ribbons pull away,
Sitting, vacant staring.
Where?
How – to ask why?
No matter the have,
No matter the time,
There is no peace… in losing me.
Bold? I say no -
Yet -
All comes… Without Grace…