Alone With Melancholy

I. Mornings

I hear you,

a distant moan

dusting my ear.

I keep still—

head down,

eyes pressed shut.

My body burdened

knowing nothing keeps you

from me.

II. Afternoons

Your approach slams

the heaviest doors—

windowless rooms shiver.

Your spite funnels

a disquieting chill. Outside

the slow swath of the sickle.

III. Evenings

The ashen whisper of your voice,

the icy peeled finger pressed

against my lips.

Shhh...

a reminder.

An honest mess- A rain cloud affair; Nothing more than clothes in the corner piled high on the chair, Your mouth says a name- doesn’t...

What if spilled ink Was nothing more than Dense words compacted On your muddled page? Not a mess to mop up, But a message to sort out....

The ephemeral glow of the sun, rising above the ocean. Light rays reach out, like the hands of a god offering eternal tranquility....

Portals