The censer of my mind's ego swings slow like a pendulum's liturgyof the grotesque with a psalm of the throat in bass notes neath thecowling of my obsession, choking the embers of your bones—nowno more marrow to pound in...

...when we were ghosts, now shadows   the house held echoes, and gravity with no bones, to remember   just footprints beyond the walls of forgotten dreams...

I could hear the shadow dying exhaling in the cold corner unraveling thread of a shadowbecoming nothing at all only a silence exhaling in the cold corner