Well,
darkness never...

A veil which spreads,
Gently 'round thy heart...

I once licked lips of a sadists desire,
wounded beneath Birch I learned to walk...

Poets write of loneliness
where knuckles lay straight and fingers beg...

You were a Saturday nightfall;
a thousand phantom leaves would sprawl...

I have been wearing
the perfume of our past on my skin...

In the end dates once important tend to crawl over...
Like oil to a canvas painted similar to Van Gogh's...

Tonight,
I slumped 'gainst...

I have written about loss like
my body is tomb for cupid arrows...

The ocean
reminds me of my father...

October was;
the death of fireflies...

Dear Valentine,
There's something about February that...