Remains of the day

The remains of the day
and your absence - they sway.
From thoughts in no place
to still frames of your face.
In vistas long gone
she writes you a song.
With the whispering breeze
she screams out her pleas.
She pummels and ruffles
the truth that she knows,
she fractures the fractions
you left of her core.
Raptures and ruptures
desires and wishes,
of a poor bride and poor whore
that longs to think of you - no more.

Another last time.

Grand unpleasant vex
in between my fingers you are missed.
Your feel and burning kiss
its warmth and death filled bliss
by the masochist, that you've unhinged,
are longed for in every thought and every whim.

Ludicrous-how life can turn out to be
I once consumed you and now you do me.
How the will of a king you've dressed as a clown
and stoned its essence on to the ground.
I cannot explain nor comprehend
where you made the straight river bend.

Miniature pillar how wretched this fate
I once danced within your embrace,
and your grip now I try to escape.
But as a string violently strummed,
at your sight my strength shakes
as I ache yearning, for one more, last taste.