I smothered my muse with a down-filled pillow
And left her corpse stretched out,
Naked and prostrate,
On the futon in the spare room.
I held her in my dreams for a fortnight,
Then discarded the memory,
Wretched and withered,
To the wraiths that live behind the house.
But her siren call kept singing to me,
Relighting the torch that lead me through the night,
Captive, confused, cornered,
Shedding blood between the tears.
And I recalled the day when first we met,
I touched her cheek, she spoke to me,
And said,
“It will never be what it was to you,
You will never see what you were to me.”
On the futon in the spare room,
Naked and prostrate,
I smothered my muse with a down-filled pillow
And left her corpse stretched out.
— ptkh 11.02.14