I should probably read poetry first

He comes to her bed
entangling their limbs
arms and hips

Presently present closed
impartial
electric light

Pleasantly
long suffering
abeyance

Put to death
beneath
complicated coverlets

I must be going through a break up

Oh we passivists

the world comes
and we're rocked by her waves

make slaves of her shelter
and are thereby enslaved

find us
our oyster
hammocks
and sleep

absent transgression
our endorsement
we keep

A poem

Autumn's leaves

blush red

at the indifference

of their departing lord

But the cold

of his prolonged absence

turns them brittle, brown

and wilted

Until breaking

under burdens

of love's seeming abandonment

they fall

borne lightly to the ground

as living tears

on death's feeble breeze

Wrapped up tight against the cold

my breath but

an Autumn fog

I walk

their path of broken hearts.