“…poetry makes nothing happen: it survives” -W.H. Auden
The wish to kiss your eyelids &
that heavy weight of images
forever haunting you.
You’re no Princess & I’m
I cannot rescue you &
you can’t rescue me.
I still so madly want to believe
“I am with you / and know how it is”*.
I know nothing of your suffering,
that yours leaves scars & so do mine.
I’ve nothing left to write about, except
that will not leave me:
a Guillotine quick & clean,
in the most golden
morning light we’ve ever seen in our lives,
leaving only beauty behind,
the beauty of suffering.
Until all that remains are the memories
that help you to