It should be good.

It should be good.

He counted stars

There was weeping

The pillow is a lonely place

To be

She is elsewhere

Beside him is a ghost

It haunts the crook of his arm

The bend of his neck

Toward absent lips

Dispelled by a phantom

There is no kiss

There is no sleeping.

As the moon slips over

The world is empty

There is more space than stars

She is not among them

Unless she is.

The shadows are full

Of pretence

Old laughter

Once forgot

Echoes in a vault.

The sky is maudlin

Bearing its weight

With nary a care

To repeat itself.

Different in every way

From yesterday

And yet

Much the same tomorrow.

Dreams are a mockery

Of delusion

There is little in the wish

A lack of fulfilment.

Dissatisfaction

Would be a gift

It bears promise

The rumple of sweated sheets

Bundled and twisted

A hangman’s knot

Left in suspension.

The brunt of yesterday

Carried forward with regularity

Its silence

More insistent

With every whispered prayer.