Cusp

Whenever I feel, hear,

or see a thing and recall you

I sort of hack, cough, and spit.

Then I shake my head violently so

it feels like my brain is knocking against

the inner walls of the skull. All this to avoid

weeping. I also wonder how it could have all

been in those days, back then--wonder how I

looked into those big brown bulbs and saw love

when there was something more akin to murder and

indifference much of the time. You've said it yourself.

There have been many demons crawling around me in my

sleep and I suddenly wish that you had been around to smell the

many layers of putrid rotting flesh in the night. A lot of the smell

is something like the pheremone-infested cloud in the depths between

your fat thighs after a long workout. I enjoyed the smell. It's not really there

in the nights, though. And the demons: They aren't real, so they are also not there.

They are as not-there as you are.