Perhaps it is true

Perhaps it is true

Love lies

Sleeping,

Beneath linen sheets

Bunched up

Balled into fists

Hastily discarded

Unwashed

Scrunched behind

The bathroom door

Lying on the floor

Whimpering

A penny for them

Finding peace

In delusion

Sweated in secret

The scent of it

Lingers

In the imagination

Far longer than you realise

The hole it leaves

In your heart

Moth eaten

Mourning clothes

Cold flames

Turning skin blue

Frost-bitten dreamers

Bathed in moonbeams

Stencilled in starlight.

A wasteland

Of skeletons

Closeted in silence

Graveyard flowers

Never cut and dried

A slip of the tongue

A breathless reveal

Favouring the brave

The truth of it

Love breaks out

From the darkest of places