I will watch the candles cry

themselves cold

stare out the oil lamp —until it burns dry

at the heart of the ridiculous, beats

the sublime.

Loving you– me –

a simple flower of the flock.

Always  the one addicted to your addictions

in all their unpalatable truths.

Disciplined in all of your art form

white suffused with red a smear by any

other, would simply be pink.

Extracting sound bites

the shadows of life– fast forwarding

the replay dial called living.

Distant on some calling bay

the tide long ebbed

as raindrops rare– show how a city glows.

I in silence lie about my bed

bleached roots– to anchor

the rawness of this canker.

Last night I did not play with sleep

I fell into the madness of sharing

what is mine?