Sometimes dark,
darkly gentle,
they can say it in eights and sixteenths
and tell my whole life.

Sitting by the pool
feet dangling above the depths
high as a heron
telling you I have a secret.

In the bathroom smiling
mouth on mouth
your chemical tongue so soft,
finishing me,
bringing me to my final hour.

Washing your back,
your black hair draped over the curve of your hand
I taste the water on your skin
run my hand between your legs
press into the ink
and you write your story on my hands.

Sitting on a pillow surrounded,
always surrounded,
by desperate, searching,
wanting faces.
I can't take it.
I'm melting into the floor
they're all gone forever.

Raleigh of the final four years.