bathing in the silence
solitude from room to room
he’s naked and reclining, like a Toulouse-Lautrec
lips bitten raw, skin clawed
recounting the origins of old scars
places gone
time lost
soaking in a glass of Malbec
soaking up the emptiness
wade through the emptiness with me, into the dark, absent of thought
nous verrons ce qu’il y a de l’autre côté
sealed in ink 