He had finished the book quicker than he’d expected,
He was eager not to miss out on how it ended.
He had run the bath as warm as to
Have sweated more profusely than the water could wash,
Although, the blood like an oil spill from his wrists posed a greater dilemma to his cleaning.
There was no-one to wash his feathers.
It was a quieter end than the last one she had got caught up in,
The square untouched, the news reports untold.
Do dead men dream, or would he never see her again?
Is there nothing?
She wondered what was taking him so long,
He was only gone to shave.
Image credit: Elena Roselli