From a dying Soldier.

I soak blood; off my wound, with Your rag.
In my missing skin-imagine Your shape.

Through my noisy breath, and a heart to drag,

see pallor in the stems of escape.

You surfed my dreams; over waves of Your smell.

The broken steel in my organ stays...

Wish I had spelled You: to You; had scores to tell.

I'll loathe this war, and keep You in my dead mind-

Always.