W.M. Butler

on the last day of the rest of our lives

the skin hunger for you on me 

is a slingshot into sunshine 

our faces covered to god 

our love a blank rhythm 

in a cloudy silence 

of borders patrolled six feet apart 

in an open sky 

your smile widens the horizon

i am lost without you here 

i am lost on an island in a city 

where my reach is a clawing farce 

a boobishly silly joke 

fuck  

this is what dying alone must feel like.