by P.A.Levy
by autumn it was flat lining
red passion cells all pale and iambic
come winter it was stone cold dead
natural causes
its heart just stopped beating
we said prayers
with lowercase tears in our eyes
they rhymed as they rolled
down our cheeks
until they mingled with snivelling snot
then it became a mucus mess
now i’m haunted by a ghost-writer
a white page with two full stop eyes
giving it the scream of space
like the empty bed
or the room without you
trace smell of perfume
and all the words that were never said