La la Love me in the morning and in the afternoon

Three months have passed
on the cusp of winters writhing edge in prickled pain
flooding brown rushing waters churned  
against grey writing rocks  
 
waiting for the kerplunk as they sink  
uprooted tree branch depth  
slumped broad shoulders
stones divided as bridges swept
 
closing hazel pen nib eyelids
it gets harder to open them back up each time
don't you go and forget how to ink again
did you leave me in a fourth place finish
 
duct tape cardboard bookcases widen
bastards line up  
feeding me their furrow of feeling tantrum fits
by long way of words
 
sometimes i call them idols
at others i call them writers
rack me up as an  incomplete pool game battlefield
quiet quarters waiting  
 
calling dibs on next round
i would have kept you till the very end
my black 8 ball calling left corner pocket
there is no duplicate for delights you brought
 
through you leave me as a homicide gunshot victim
holes upon holes where my parts  
use to sense rainbow sensations
 
we are but purple thistles in a rowing field
similar lacerations
breeze forcing us to touch sometimes