he has reflected on this one occasion,
more like a period in time
physically sporadic 
yet emotionally consistent--
for
him. 


t'was there, never left.


this thought:
A slow drift along the coastline 
bumping up against the ribs 
like icebergs in the Arctic 
slow chiping to the core.


as the ice chips the weight fits the pain.  
time wastes and hurts, all the same. 
A chipped cube melting 
like the emotion settling from the surface, 
and he can't really blame the 
person who's not fairly aware of 
said effect.
his solids turned liquid to fit 
the expansion of senses when she 
up and left his insides-out.
like abstinence from happiness
he refrained from complaints.




Its possible-
a woman, this woman
could, would tear the insides of a foreigner to warmth, 
the raw feeling of fresh flesh to oxygens 
hydration of the meat and bones she'd find 
chilling 
once he was willing.


no candle burns passed the wick
its brightest at its infancy
though quick to fill his gap 
she wasn't fond of consistency.


weather changed
tempers shifted, 
love ridden'
memories lifted 
from forms unsettling 
to nonbelievers.


Faith filled the fanciful soul of that thought.


the thought had a soul from which it's life thrived 
though the thought may sink, alive: may 
be tweaked, twirled tossed, curled to confess a better 
ending. 


Truth be told
young love grows cold the 
elderly not fit 
for fending.