Morning Dew

Sallow and hungering

Upon wet pillows

His mouldy touch in the

Morning

Mimics life.

And through his hollow cavity

He forces a curdled brew

Squeezes like a crushed lemon

His drip, drip, drip of rancid dew.

Mornings come, bear him

Half an unformed child

Slurping at a thought he

May have once chased

An echo that suffocated

In the clench

Of his jolting hands.