It is always better to depart

at the end of life

whilst windows are locked

and doors closed

but this is often impossible.

Now, when thousands of lakes have been removed

 wars are fought over water

millions of cups of coffee no longer drunk,

your gaze explodes like petrol thrown on a bonfire.

and this time it really is my fault

some of us are good at dissembling 

but you need a fine fresh memory

to twist living words into false patterns:

that jump through hoops at will

so that a woman with an eloquent neck,

is lovely even in her clumsiness,

so that men with bloodied fists pursue her

try to crawl into her ear  

to flatter her with twisted words

that curl up and flutter and purr as if they are her pets

but really want to devour her.

For me, her words remain a tender thing,

we know we will not live long

and are satisfied with these rare moments

of cordiality, of living breathing authenticity.

Rarely does this little life yield so much

Do not touch and certainly do not press heavily

Against her fragility,

She often dies of lascivious looks -

Her poor body twisted   

Maltreated by the life-long process of death and dying

defamed by these ugliest of words.