In this longstemmed absence I have heard the clamber of smashed violins, bows softening with rainwater and weeds rising through strings. Growth is rooted in rot.
Your skin glows with the patina of need. I want to wrap you in long sleeves of silk ribbon, press fantasies upon chocolatedazzled lips and nurture a voice still laboring with the affliction of affectionate abuses.
Even the clouds find release when the breeze whispers your oft-stifled name.