Friday, 24 June 2011


She cannot see what’s in my heart, and if
she could? Then what a tempest raging, storm
abandoned vessel would be there for her
to contemplate. My ocean’s volume swirls
a sickened, crashing symphony of doom,
despair and anguish; cries of her name echo
throughout the emptiness of hollow space,
between the grim of now and promises
of her imagined kiss, which later I’ll
not have; nor love or lust’s embrace.
Instead, I’ll sit and count my ocean’s drops;
each one a tear. This day’s a wreck. Adieu!

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