A Man And The Worms

It harms me so loud and still,
the sweet departure of
a man and
the worms rolling about.

My window grants lengthy
gossip,
a red haired indiscretion
on his lips,

his soft offering
on a great night,
in a devil’s way.

He drinks like manslaughter,
his pleasant flee to the clouds;
to the moon burning out

his own execution.
We range from youth to wisdom,
he and I,

my blessing is here,
splintered between floor boards.

He is on his way out.

The worms vomit tar around
my window sill,
we slip together in service, but

he keeps a foot on the back door.
Sleep has a price that
I pretend not to notice,
close my eyes,

and should he have loved me,
I’d pity his silence and
let the worms have him.