Acceptance?

The blossom drips on a hardwood cage.

Tapping.

Knocking

in a soft frail voice.

Meek as rain,

echoes

piercing into the undergrowth.

“Are you still there”

there?

“Are you gone?”

gone?

Love is

a chasm.

Fingers swirl in dark oils.

No art so vulgar.

drips                 drip                 

dripping            black

painting the table

smothers the cage.

He will not let you         rest.

“I will not let you sleep”