Mark R Slaughter (1957)

In my arm
here: a vein

fills the
antecubital fossa

Its partner gives a tram line:
they're nestled in
for life

And as I look down upon this purple pair
I beg them share
the secret

They won't

Happiness
I guess
- its ignorance warm -
isn't
Just the flesh

Comfort in familiarity -
my own perception -

No expectation

MY drive?
It's in the nascent smoke
of Cuban leaves -
presentation dried

Like the glass hanging from the hand
hanging from the arm I view
askew
brandyless

The head I bear
wells in heavy tear
slipping out a tale
of desperation

A remnant
of the day before

Copyright © Mark R Slaughter 2012