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A list:

Midnight and moves.

—

Leonard Cohen

and eyes in the dark

a breathe

and a sigh

all

nowhere at all.

A collection of

poetry beside the bed

further and further

past

apart.

A different bed

coffee cups

and little lips

little discoveries

as the sun sighed into the room.

Begged the robbers into chains

into the closet

after chased

through chest pain

and a sentimental note.

The mirror unwinds

and hands

weren’t always so frail

but it’s now

anyway.

And the love dried in the sun

disappeared

like words drunk on

heartache and sweat wiped

from a lover’s brow

like

the necklace on the chest

glowing in hand at four

dropped between the bed.

A lover and a mouse

which is which

hitting prose or

sloppy words

spilled from lips

when they fail to rally.