That sound is silence
The quiet act in violence
My thoughts in a riot
As if on autopilot

He is not the best
Not even a little
Though like the rest
I’ve set for remittal

Just maybe he is the worst
As I fell for him first
But he is an endless thirst
With no quench for the cursed

The damned be gone!
There is never any dawn
I must carry on
Where his ghost has spawn

I make love to nothing
A ghost I am hunting
One with his absence
A love without an address

© Delia Ross. 2019