Suspended

Forced away what conscience said,
Closed my eyes, angled my head
Pursed my lips and crimson blushed,
But all the fuss, to what fruitless end
Cause just as I his breadth could smell,
Welcomed he, my exiled friend.

The inevitable day after

Cradled in the dull ache,
The images spin by
Of the night before
And of all the resultant days to be
And broken tears form
That moan the futility of reproach
Wishing them all away,
Parched eyes try to open.