the deep funk of his grief
was like watching
a jagged knife being drawn
across her smooth skin
he laughed — bitterly,
almost spitting in their face –
when someone described
his mood as ‘blue’. blue to him
was calm, soothing…lake water
and her eyes.
this was white like the searing
heat of metal fresh from the
furnace right before being branded
to the flesh
or black — suffocating and sucking
all life and joy from a room — dark,
passionless. a void to fall into.
there was no lack of anger and hate,
tears were in abundance. relief
and joy absent, purpose
a lost desire.