Jul. 29, 2017

Aoife

Your dead image
sits inside me
pale face
long washed hennaed hair
long eyelashes closed
traces of cold sore
on your ice frozen lips

I ache inside
my head for you
to wake, to breathe
you lie there
I walk slowly
round you
scavenging for life

screams and howls
of despair and loss
bounce round the room
I know afterwards
they are mine
my love my hope
my soulmate gone

three islands
wake you
behind glass doors
each with their own
death of you
green curtains
end a part of life.