before writing

at her core
empty
a wanton container

image-filled
the taste of words
the lingering scent
of the transient contained
by her embrace

reluctant to loose from possession
to spill what was heaped

[ . . . . .]

not knowing who
is the “you”

in dark moments thinking
there is no you

a new moon night
and the mirror unreflective
draws a blank

attention skitters
harried into brownian movement
broached by what cannot be

my Double unsung
embraces me