I wish to spend this life in your socks,threaded in the warmth of your quiet steps. Not borrowed, belonged. Not worn, woven.Each fiber remembers the roads you've touched, soft echoes of you beneath my soles, a hush of love...

With cold dead hands, a ghost I am to you alone now.   With cold dead hands that are unseen, unfelt, and unanticipated.   With cold dead hands, my visits are unknown to you making you shiver, and lips embalmed in ice.   With cold dead hands, I will call...

This body! A living, breathing corpse! May my home become my tomb. Have I been entombed alive all this time? Buried with windows of sunlight, Looking out over the trimmed grass of my grave. Where the name on my mailbox is a...