ring my bells.

its december tomorrow
and i crave some sorrow

i try to hide in your clothes

breath and death are so much in rhyme
i'd choose you time after time.

because.

and your foot steps go unheard
slowly backward
onto the steps and out of the door

I hide in your old clothes
the ones you left

like a dog without a bone.

tatha.

His hands were like mad rakes on wet mud.Like the labor of gardening a beautiful masterpiece.His eyelids were like mathematical dangling puzzles that might just be unsolved forever.

His manly ardor was sinking on the hospital bed.
I still have a shirt.
He was ninety one.
I still run my fingers through my forehead and my scalp through my hair and sigh.
till we meet again.