Sigh-soaked pillows
Can seldom compete
With great sex;
My dreams are dry.
Can you recall the last time
You soaked me with lust?

The pillow smiles back
Calls me names
Finds me ugly.
My dreams are dry.

Melancholia

On days such as this
She sits
Throat parched
For want of a few drops of nicotine.

They gaze at her
Myriad questions in their eyes
Is she mad?
Or did the sun just bake her black?

On days such as this
She sits
Lost in her thoughts
Of fallen towers and run-down mosques.

They drift by like leaves,
Few pity her
Most are just curious
Is she mad?
Or did the sun just bake her black?

On days such as this
She waits
For the nothingness of nothing,
Perhaps she has seen
Kali’s dance on the flames.

They don’t see her any more
Even as they pass,
They know
She turned mad
When the sun baked her black.

Was all well
On this end of eternity?
Here she had stood
Beneath his sails,
Singing out to the sea.

Was all well
On this end of eternity?
Here she came
And waited each day,
Eyes searching the sea.

Was all well
On this end of eternity?
In dreams she saw
The face she loved
And heard the summons of the sea.

Was all well
On this end of eternity?
He returned,
Tired of mortality
To find her drowned at sea.