gone are the types of food
packing my refrigerator with
inspirational texture and choice
a void sits around me
with a barren and flat skin
nothing to look for in the
doorway
shelves where books used to
be pulled and rearranged
are collecting dust from
my bony hands now inactive
with flesh torn and out of touch
after the nature of two
leading my mind back to one
several times lost in myself
gradually inactive and unprepared
for the windows to fall and the air
dark portrayed by your absence
in morning's memory now dehydrated.
summon into focus
a moving spirit walking towards me
with green eye's spiraling,
warned in May of a
barbarous soul.
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