musings & scribbles

to be told i am worthless/

useless/

unloved

is liberating.

without those

cuffs of roles unfulfilled

i can

be uncaring–

that

cold’d wave of wind clinched-less

in palm

and

belly of fingers.

how pale turns moon

when your eyelids close

and your servant, i, can see you dreaming–

within subtled twitch

your lips turn rose

and left am i,

the startled spy upon your ceiling

how

round those eyes

the

roundest eyes

that arm

jerk-twisted and showing

those ribs

those ribs cleaned

and caving

those eyes;

how round

those eyes

swollen and stationed