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Separation hurts. The tide comes in. Her shadow a thousand tiny land crabs. Crawl into thesea. One by one by one. The tide comes in. Who am I to grasp for shadows? Who am I tohold her back? Flesh on silhouette. Who am I to snuff flame for fear of bouncing light?

Separation hurts. The sun comes in my window. Her eyes hovering about. Pangs, twangs,pinching nerves somewhere between my rib cage and my soul.

Try. Fail. Try. Fail. Try.Tis all I can do to keep from drowning in the misery of inaction.

Warm winds. Tobacco smoke. All of her. Smells. Dreams. An illusion? Surely I have notbeen chasing shadows through a maze? Surely there was someone there, on the other end?

Surely.

Im not sure of anything anymore. Knowing the heart can seem so wrong for so long. Its softmurmuring of truths shadowed by the minds barrage of lies and half-truths.

Writing helps a little bit, I suppose. A flume for my sorrows. Poured down ice and into themouths of blank screens and ink cartridges. I knew better than to care so much. But its in mynature.

Comes with the territory, babe. Shot myself in the mouth with that one. At least it was true. Atleast Ive hidden behind what I reallyam--instead of what I wish I was.

Every heartbreak is a lesson. Ive stood taller this time round. Still my knees are a little shaky.Still I contemplate destroying the scene around me. Still I want to drag the world down to mywallowing hole.

At least this time Im aware, I suppose. At least this time I saw it coming. And didnt pretend I

didnt. How many words did I repeat these past few months? Certainly Love never slipped toooften. Not through my mouth, perhaps. My eyes, however, are a different story.

If I could dam the rift that laybetween my eyes and soulSay then might I remainMystery and Cold.

All these words are but a cover. A hot salve. Temporary. Enough. Maybe I should go to work.Maybe the day to day will drown the night thats followed me here.

I took the pleasure for the pleasure and so now I drink the bitter end--the sediment at the bottom

of our decanter.

This is foolish. Yet I know no other way. Dregs, drags, dredging. Lather me up and slip meinto your orifices until you are full on my lust. My poetry. Devour these attentions for which I amprone to spill, when pressure by soft bosoms wraps around my hilt.

Rhymes are escaping. Running. Its all I can do not to flee the State. This State. This momentof reflection and boiling water. Id like to hope for better days, for the fairy tale resolution to thisdispute. Is this old age or wisdom that prevents such wanton wishes? Is jaded the same as

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learned? The problem with naivety is also its allure. So much is softer in its light. Nights arelonger in the arms of lovers. Days are shorter when theyre gone.

Id give up the carnal for the sage. If only to hold my lips against hers one...moment...longer.

Perhaps I should have eaten dinner? But doubts are dangerous seeds and Ive taken that road

before.