if eyes not mine could see,

if lips not mine could speak,

what truths and destinies

hold you in your pale grasp?

shreds torn away,

scrapings of dignity

lifted carefully from off the floor

where last you left them,

and I,

struggling under your weight,

your intellect,

your reek of other women…

my arms are enclosed about the frail view;

a sunset, thick

with mingled colours

and scented,

violet shades

which now rest beneath my eyes,

running poisonously

within black and blue veins -

the dusk is pale,

a darkness beginning to creep,

slow as sanity,

across the bare white horizon,

tipped and battered,

bled dry beneath the sun’s

bleached, undying stare…

I huddle, with patient gasps

of remembered pain…

no rocks to pound away the regret

and uselessness,

no clouds to hide the onslaught…

sunset but a dream within a dream of you.

Fickle thoughts are gone.

there is only faithfulness

to your barbarity

and your destinies and dignities…