I love your hands. 4/30/03

~*~

A tuneless song
of undying
and unreciprocated love
seeps into my
fingers
making the itch return.

My soul has become a
plaster wall,
with violet rose petals
strewn
carelessly on the floor.
(from dead roses
falling)

Where did you go,
my love?
Why did you
not
take me with you?

And my fingers
trail
along the seams of my life,
slowly tearing little
strings now
sticking out.

And then my fingers
move to your body,
and you are dead.
(despair)