The Broken Line

I stand on the platform alone, your train long gone,
paralyzed with grief to deep to cry.
Stuck in my throat are the three words you wanted
so bad to hear, simple words that would have changed
everything, but fear got in the way.

There is no reason to go home now, the house is cold
and empty without you.
Nothing left for me to do but lay down on the tracks,
press my ear against the rail, close my eyes and listen
to you slip away.

Quench

My mouth like gauze, my throat like sun washed clay.
To have just one taste, to have relief wash over my tongue -
That would be heavenly.

Dynamic tension surges through me, I cannot grasp
moderation -
One blissful sip will lead to my drowning.

Satisfaction at a price, like always.