Icarus

it's been two years since I saw you last my neon man. we link arms and walk and I ask how you are. "building again", and you show me a concrete slab.


you took me flying once, my glowing icarus into the bright white sky where the rippling whistling wind caressed my face, my hair slid down my body.

clicked on your picture just yesterday
your slack grey face
called me back through time and space
to your darkened cocoon where you lay
growing your wings.

it's the last day
the last family photo
and you keep seizing -
what the hell was I thinking?
i just didn't notice you were so thin
you've shed your body like an unwanted skin and your eyes are empty of you.

i run out to the sunshine, my grey splintered bench, clenching my blue lighter light a cigarette.

a white-winged butterfly flutters
then settles on my thigh.
i exhale and watch the smoke
take you and
float up to the sky.

Lady Lily