The best part of the day
is the love you send
like flowers on a grave.
The dead know that none of this matters
as much as we hope it would. The dead
know how you can fault on your knees.
Better to not know yourself. Cry all
day under your glare. Escape in the
middle of the night and hunger for the
lustful cravings among
the banks of your shore.
I will kill your beauty, watch it
pass me by like a dead freight train.
I will add Greek olives to it as a gesture
of my hate.
has no will to look anyone in the eyes.
will spread her legs
for you to go deep
shakes your knees
at my touchdown.
The theme escapes me daily
the words all gone again, starting
over on a new screen
to begin in another lifetime.