discussing the thoughts of wind

 
 
 
 
sitting with Carroll  
 
discussing the thoughts  
of wind  
 
appeased  
 
he wanders back to his  
grave  
 
black spider crawling  
across a red table cloth  
 
each knowing the lips  
of the Mona Lisa have  
never been kissed  
 
nights filled with loneliness  
like bottles of vintage wine  
 
as I sit here with my smokes,  
my coffee  
 
looking out my bedroom window  
 
watching the last blades of  
daylight fleeing the sky like  
sparrows searching for a better  
dawn  
 
I am reminded  
 
that love, much like eternity,  
is not promised to  
anyone  
 
nor can be received  
or taken with any real  
satisfaction