Quietus : A Sonnet


Like water, viscous, smooth as mercury

it pulls me under, grasping fingers, dark.

I want to gulp, erase it. Surgery

that can stitch together, remove your mark.

With time, the bolus numb. Thoughts sliced, arranged

discombobulated, in straight neat rows.

You flit, dissolve, a memory estranged,

incorporeal, not, but for the scent of rose.

A picture sits, upon my wall, of you.

alive, awake, for a moment, askew.


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