This goodbye, long and sharp, gets weaker,
when the edges of winds are thin
and the time, out of bullets clicker,
makes a sense while the candles flicker,
keeps the world after you in spin.

And holed up under skin, as reaper,
love is hungry for touch and kiss.
I forgot how to breathe in deeper,
since the panting was often cheaper,
while desire’s beast - party pris.

And my soul is a chanting mecca,
and the payers are dust in books.
This goodbye is the final take off –
mimicry to resemble echoes,
drifting memories call to brook.

19 November 2008