The final days came hard. Mouth wide, she lay,
two strips of plaster stuck across her nose
to keep a thin green tube fixed in its place
that made her breathe less hard. The constant sound
Relief # 2
The glittering gold strewn about her shoulders
laid in counter point to the dark weave of her top
that beckoned to my fingers,
even as her blood-red lips called to my mouth,
and the warm...
Again I am stranded,
apart, looking at grey trouble:
nothing drastic, nothing like
old Edward Munch's cry, no arms
raised in agony, no deep sense
of loss. The rain will
come down soon,...
Resignation # 2
Riddle me Reeby
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