Early spark & saunterthe morning stalksa warmed-up,chilled-outflowering,  first...this heat(more like a buzz)all through the night:a zephyr-frozenspear of lightspits the stoneon a space ofwavering daysstabbing westwardgrowls for hopethrough a howling gustwhere the darkness stretchesthought & prayersfor old friendsI should've had...

Vulnerable... My wax-like existence  in the presence of your flame makes my eyes drip with tears.   This constant bleeding of my soul... This neverending torment... My waxy soul will sometimes  avoid the world's flame,   and my running tears will dry. And my wax figure will be silent... tears dried...

Your kisses were like honeyas I tasted them on the streetlate at nightyour embraces were like a silk scarf.

I reside in a house with an adjoining lighthouse on the dreadful cliffs on the coast. What makes it unique and even haunting is the only thing up in the tower are the lights, a piano and a corpse....