Lifeline

Mine, the mother lode
under broken finger nails.
Scrub-brush bristle rasps
silver-blue embedded cracks;
thinned skin, scrubbed red
of the bloodied coal.

Sputtered flicker, flames
snatch catch paper twists
as the dust choke rises.

Clogging fog
in every pore,
every breath.

Strapped close for warmth
for life, for reality,
premature flutterbye movement.

Her, against my chest.

Hearts beat together
on a long, lank, dank
winter afternoon.

She reminds me,
along with first silk-milk
smell seeping overlaid
with Johnsons Soap;
feeding time.

When the black grate
gives up its feeble furnace,
we will, my sweet girl,
be still, my sweet girl,
while I sing
lullaby of love
for you, always.

04
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minor edit 26.07.12