to step forth in words
to drink this last breath, our last one,
is only to end what was once
eloquently begun

no game victorious, only
as you said
naivete with the hope of tulip bulbs,
to find the light of perfect rhyme in a life
raped by Life itself, to firmly grip this ideal once more
before i let it fall beneath my feet to be
dusted under the bed, not forgotten
but vaulted

words, often the opposite of
meaning what it all meant to me
it meant all to me.

but,

words, at times
perfume or poison

nevermind, now rattle like the pebble in a tin can