I dilute
my days
with dimes a dozen
or dimes thrown into detached fountains
my arid wishes wasted on deaf sculpted stone
but I will,
I will feel you again.
it is in my nature,
even those melancholy parts of your mouth
that you would not want touched by me
and my hands of mud
I am struck,
sometimes-- often
with the solemn somber thought
that when it comes to you
I am without eyes
But I will see you again
you are unavoidable
even if you evaporated
inevitably you would return
on my moist skin
far from the mad world and close to me
I clutch
my chest
within its cold chamber,
there are hollows within hollows
and blue veins tangled closed
I will love you again.