The only gift I managed
to skin from you was fear.
It flirts in waves over my body
as the daunting presence of the undertaker
echoes though this fading tunnel.

Sulfur-aged castle eyes speak volumes
about the experiences of man and wolf,
as the able-harlot fucks herself to sleep.

Yet I'm left with fear, and though it's not
my own the scarecrows will take no pity on me.
I shall hide under these giant stalks and rummage
my bag of rotten corn until the wolves come.

i.e. I'll be sitting here at the Marriot,
cell phone rested on my chest, waiting for your ghost
to step out of the shower,at which point I'll have been
gone for minutes.

06/13/2010