Nice things always
break...

Like a prayer, almost
two hands clasped...

I put myself in a little box
one that shuts...

I
am half-built...

you turned out the lights
and then refused...

... like a blanket
made from cotton...

Speak slowly to me
as you touch my lips...

Sometimes in the quiet
slither of evening...

White tile
white room...

I'll wear this round my neck because
you gave it to me...

Streaming across my face like
whispering tassels of wind...

Silence
as I stand under the spray...