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Stutterer
August 23, 2017
His hands, twitching,
suffused with antiseptic
to rid his body of the
hunger that grins devilishly
like a cheshire cat,
scratching at his earlobes,
whispering her name
like a battle cry, a hymn
for drowned souls,
a requiem for tired masses,
and his voice -- cracked
as an egg shell the day
she left the keys behind,
stuttering her name, a hollow
prayer whispered into
the darkness, and her grin,
rising up like petals of a rose
toward the open sun,
fading to faded
like a ghost's ashes
scattered to the winds.
© Jonathan L., LaGrange, GA
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