by Matthew Mcgovern
waking with summer’s last rays
the last of our days ensemble
stuck up on three floors, eye to
eye with wailing willows
out of doors i’m up to the window, out
of bed watching wishing with the
whole world dying almost dead,
you plan to pin me to the pillow
call me back with your lips your
kiss… with lips now out of reach
was it lust?
it was lost. lost when i
walked outside, untangled
from the bramble of the
bed’s embrace, anchor of
the night held me tight now
the sun burns the lust from
my lips, lost at sea not salty
at my lot unmoored and
with no real route.
Future Histories 