I haven't seen her since Friday.  
Weekends with her move
Like electrons around
Nucleae; without her like
An old slug up a mountain side.
Now she's less than
An hour
Away.

Apart from daily good night calls,
I've spoken to none but our cat.
Now my voice sounds alien
When I fill her bowl,
And she looks at me as if slightly
Worried for my mind,
Before she eats.
Don't worry, Wolfie, I
Hear myself say.
*She's less than
An hour
Away...

Chasing you is like racing the speed of light
I am left in the darkness never able to keep up sprightly
Leaving me fighting for air while my lungs erupt painfully
Gasping for breath spewing the words enough is enough skeptically
Accepting the fact I can't capture your love
The pain pierces my back in the night with the realization
that things between us have come and gone
It all seems like vivid imagery of my own imaginary creation
Of everything I dreamed you to be hoping to fill the void left by my last devastation
I want to be held with a firm grip and devotion
I need a connection with a depth deeper than the ocean
A romance so hopeless it leaves others disgusted or in admiration
Was it all a dream built upon no foundation
or did you find yourself lost too in moments of infatuation?

The white blankets in the closet
The red blankets in the bed
An infant in his mother
His mother in pain
The father in the corridor
The corridor in the house
The house in the city
The city in the night
The death in a cry
And the infant in the life

I will never be enough of a man
To dowse my saffron robes
In cold gasoline and set it aflame
In buddhistic conviction--
My dreams would scamper
From my burning head to find another,
My flesh would crack and burn
Like old parchment
In rough palms.

I will never be enough of man
To eat buckshot out of
A hollow cold steely gun
My mouth wrapped around the
Reaffirming thickness--
My eyes would dart and then close
My ears would ring and then collapse
Like an old building
Consumed in flames.

I will never be enough of a man
To wrap a rope round my neck
And stare blankly ahead
To seize the day
From God's hands--
My face would bulge
My limbs would twitch
Like a dying rodent
In the throes of cancer.

I will always be enough of a man
To kiss your lips
With my own and feel
Your curves in my hands
And look at the sun--
My trembling hands falter
My eyes can't see to feel for you
Like a blind pianist
Playing the blues.

If I was to
awake to more
than just a
foggy,hungover,
shadow of a memory
of that girl I know
was here the night
before.
Would I feel less
alone throughout the day?
If there was to be more
than just the water stained
ceiling and the
yellow, faded,
dust dressed lamp
shade to rest
my eyes upon
as the night time
drug laced,hungover
haze falls
from my view.
Would my days
appear brighter?

I always sense
the slightest smell
of her cigarettes and
the taste of stale  *****
in the mornings after .
How I secretly
long for
her pouty lips
that always
seem to carry
that bitter ***** Martini
taste.

All that is left
of her until
the next late
night hour,
unannounced drunken
visit,
is the lip
stick stained cigarette
butts in the abalone
shell.
The indentation
left by her hips and her
shoulder in the down.
And the slightest scent
of her cheap perfume
that always sticks around
for days after
shes gone.

These shadows left
behind by her
curves
and her wit
constantly
reminding me of
how empty this
place truly
is without her presence .

We both apparently
agree
that  its
better this way,
cheap and discreet,
never promised and
always unannounced.
I secretly and simply
go along with
her suggestion.