Air, waiting
to breathe in again.
Quiet strums of touch
my skin remembers, almost
stretches to the space his
stars collapsed. The hall,
last morning light
filtering to lips.
The armless couch - his
hair, stone black onyx
against its pillows white.
Bathwater in the dark.
Endorphin bags of
aphrodisia dripping, dripping.
Villagers of the night
tossing, turning insomniacs
of bone-idle air. It nods
like floating leaves.


M Madison
01 apr 01