she runs her icicle nails
      down on his chest
      as if to tear his paper heart
      whispers to him these dreams
      she won t soon wake from
      at least not in this light

      and he pours himself a drink
      to swallow the lie
      the poison in her lips
      i m yours she says
      hand behind his back
      tied by her labyrinth kiss

      january 
      as you turn
      he lies here


      untitled/unfinshed
      12/98