in spite of the obvious

there are nights that
came with such intense
voracity,
like the
hunger
of a starving artist
whose muse had left him
to cry -

so
these nights i
turn the lights out and
lay my head down,
to miss you in a ball of
deafening loneliness -

it is
a song i cannot bear to
play again and
again
for the loss is
so foreign
and
so great.