These days walk by as a man stripped of comforts, worked to bone, then ash, blown by the wind. She hides from them, from him, under covers and ashamed at her lack of gratitude for this life she cannot bear. #sundaypoetry #text #poem #time

YEARS Ice, wine, Valentine, Murmur me your dreams of sleep. Restfulness, I know I felt long ago, between stairways and stained knees. I could hear my father's voice, or is it another, younger still? I cannot catch your warm embrace, though I have yet tried to, stilt your will And your advances. I want to feel you but resist I rowed away, and will again, my hand aching in your fist. I can hear my heartbeat undertow - like shattered glass, like air. What lies within - I row awa