RIC S. BASTASA

you are
rooted to the
fertile fields of
our conversations

you are not
just an imagination

never another
pagination of
my book

a hard cover
with bold letters
that cannot be ignored
by the switching off
of the light
in the room

i want to puke
to take you out
of my system

you are a mass
of growing cells
in my body

you are root
words
an imagination
that is real
a book
a cancer cell
inside my brain

you are killing me
i am dying
you are telling me
this is what love
is all about

it has always been
an old link: love,
death,
love, death.

love.