Do you think of me, I wonder--
One time past perhaps
You pictured my delicate fingers
Gripping this pen that licked a
Virgin paper
Into splinters of bland
Poetry--
That perhaps
You thought of me too?

Damp chill blew in a flurry
The flaring tapers flickered to
Wisps of smoke
The rain ravaged the city outside
The clouds spilled its ink
And filled the milk-white sky with black
As thunder cracked
And lightning scorched
In a random fiery of
Heartless passions
Flashing a memory of you
Against the rain-streaked window--
Your moist flesh
Next to my bed
Long ago
When your empty glass eyes
Quivered of love
Just for a moment
That sped no more than a minute
No more than the finite
Strokes of black ink
That stained this paper.

Word did you say?

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