our february

smoke dusted guitar strings
               scream in pain
     your voice-blood spills out
                    painting the sheets a vivid
          black.

     token words sprinkle forth
dripping silently on the worn out wood.
                  I see your signature in the faded paint,
          that stroke of the thought
                         you left when you played.
     
silence falls as your thumbs
          stroke the grain
     drawing whisper-moans and
               sigh-grunts from the smooth,
                         liquid surface.

       you cry to the banshee that lives
               in your music
screaming

                              punishments
                    and terrible sounds.

     your mouth is more beast than man
                         its lips terminating in budding fangs
                                        blood red tongue
          (a smile oozing with hunger).

the strings sow your empty mind-fields
               the ones I planted love-flowers in
                                                                                     so long ago.

clouds set on our february
          and I still

                         love you.