The Window

         I'm sitting here in this dark little room by myself and, through the window, falling across my empty lap, is what could be moonlight, but it's flashing off and on. There's an electric sign across the street and I haven't even read it, I don't know what the hell it says.

         I remember when you woke that morning with the blood leaking down in your brain, so confused that I thought you were still having a nightmare, and I beat on the kitchen table with my fist, trying to wake you up, I didn't know you were dying.

         And one of our boys dropped by and asked you, 'If you couldn't talk, could you write it down?'

         And when you nodded, he got you a pencil and paper, and you wrote to me:

                   'please this me
                   for my kissing
                   me for missing
                   for my kissing'


         Okay, okay.