Bare

face sags like the bent down lips of a mask in a play, an ugly pain

so much more than only two arms can lift

more than one soul can hold

a home gone dry, husk

a life void

a love lost

body bows like a slit toy ball, to bob up and down no more

a soul has left, each pore is now a door

can’t hold onto “it”, what it is that made you, you, what made me, me

but it, so deft, can slip like sand, like love, like all else that can’t be held

away, and put in its lieu

a life with no joy

a love with no you