Bitter the taste, bile rising,
as it sinks in deep – this
is actually happening. Nauseated
wave near knocks her out; a sway
or two, but still erect. Flutter,
O Heart, thy end be near. Down,
down in the dark, a chasm
for errant souls – they who didn’t
know when best to have flown.
Fallen angels, now,
cheeks anointed with acrid tears.
Down be your destination, dear.
Who needs sunlight and laughter?
What use the soft touch of a lover
when its clear she’ll never see
the sunlight after