Midnight sweat,

cool white sheets,

deathly silence.

 

 

I am thinking,

about what my dear,

Death.

 

 

The tears of past sorrows,

waters the present love,

I thrive in salty soil.

 

 

A chic prematurely

left the nest,

before it was born.

 

 

A bottle of Olde Scotch Whisky

on a forgotten grave.

Dilipidated and drunk.

 

 

 

copyright JD Marx 2012