What has become of the undone

flickering screen
models of seeking
the night slinking in
the portion held open
below on the street
the footsteps of the
creepers beat

once you were a soft
survivor beneath your
blanket like a broken
doll...speaking in
shattered worlds in
the dead of sleep
sitting straight up
for a voyage of words
then back lost in
the depth of your breaths

pushed into the modern
flux sleeping in your make up
your bruises showing the
wear the tear
the softness of your hair
turning
your tone brittle

I love you further
a tourist of the Lah Lands
love you pulling the smooth
blade up your long legs
in the hot bath
the saucy statement the
perfume that pervades
your room...your bed
your blankets when I sit
to visit

I ache
when I break
wishing
I was blank
and grey

not vibrant and wild
dark and troubled
turbulent and seething

original
and only
but we
keep in
touch
so never lonely
the years
moved
but not us

...