Words, like worms, crawl through the dirt of my mind,
As they try to define the reasons why,
On a warm-rain evening in the Spring
I am hiding from the light of your aching eyes.
You find no surprise in my confession,
Yet still the lurid litany drags on.
Until nothing now remains between us
Beyond bodies diving deep into their silence.
Our internal heat meets the loss of warmth;
A distance so vast in a space so small.
Mouldering lips twist to a tainted kiss,
as we watch our sickly flowers wilt & wither…
The words, like worms, have become disgusting to me.
So I abandon the form, I hate this poem!
because ugly words arrayed real pretty won’t change a fucking thing.
They wont make it easy, or let me return to the beginning:
& this still has to end somewhere;
lover, this had to end somehow….