Loss

She sings but all
we hear is pain,
mellifluous in agony
each note a needle,
melancholy inserts
a forlorn chord as
sadness licks her
sun.

In silence all
she hears is a rose scream,
but vacuum sucks love;
so sad...
loss levers hope,
an exquisite equilibrium
in her satin night.

So she drinks the little death
and luxuriates in his arms,
and why should she wake
when hope lingers
amidst the lingerie of
her better world?

Dreams drift like mist
through her screaming sky,
never again fulfilled,
pregnant and bereft,
gone with wisps.