Your face is still there in the bowl by the bedside
Published in
1 min readJan 10, 2017
An ephemera of memories
Sitting woven in cold
And anti-depressant junk to
Travel other cities who while
Taking the temperature of sickness
Turn into electronic text
And unused condoms
A lamp to light the way to where
Your face is buried unseen
It’s power slowly fading until
It is no more than paper and ink