I lived inside you once—

Cleaned up the cobwebs collected in your corridors

And threw out the trash so there’d be room

To fill you up with only me.


I lived inside you

And you inside me.


You lived inside me—

Still you do, among the cobwebs re-collecting in my corridors

And all of your fucking trash, so there is no room

For anyone else but you.


You live inside me

And I used to inside you.


I hope he stumbles over relics—

Kicks up the dust.

Chokes on the dust.


And I hope too, that you know it is not a raging wind

Howling through your October trees

Keeping you awake at night.


It is the howling of my raging heart.


I lived inside you once,

Catacomb heart—

Cleared the cobwebs collected in your corridors,

And threw out the trash so there would be space to fill

You up with only me.



In his dreams, she dances

In and out of shadow and luminescence.

Her liquescent movements are reminiscent

Of a languid flame that once danced for the rose candle,

Which now sits cold, useless—

Dead since late October.


He breathes deeply scents of

Sandalwood and rose, the essence of her hair.

He tastes the redolence of gin and tonic,

And the tang of menthol ciggies cleaving to her tongue—

Senses living, ever

Lasting in October.


He hears her breath, rhythmic

Against a backdrop of fall rain. Soft sputters

Splatter gently upon the cold windowpane—

The melody of October unjust, justified.

Song of amour, ever

Low, ever fleeting…


He awakes in the night.

She is there in the black, low-slung and callous—

Phantom in the guise of a satellite,

Casting her hateful white light through the thin window shade,

Ever mocking, ever

Static in October.