Friday, February 11, 2011

WINTER ILLS

Winter and sickness sleep in the same bed
Before night winks awake at me
I rest my lips
Upon a cold cheek
A pallid one
Eyes a blank death
A closed-spaced closeness
One hand laid on my stomach
One upon my head
I never knew to shiver
Tiny tremors to shake
Break them
From their grasp
Gasp and groan
And words will forget to work
Sentences break
Off & out
Of my throat
They tend to eat
All the black that leaks
Sneaks from between
Cracked lips
Of paper skin
With unoccupied hand
They draw it into
Open, drafty gaps
Of space
Spaced on either side
They pretend to be
Death, but they stay
Much longer
Lying cold in my bed

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