Truer Words
  by Cliff Roberts

LaCroix, 
we've cheated the grave,
never experiencing its muddy entombment.

We have intermingled,

exchanging curses
     and caresses
            with one another.

We have drunk garnets together,
held death
   in our hands
  letting life slip through our fingers--
 
grains of sand in an hourglass
which has no gravitational pull upon us.

Companionship 
has molded into hatred,
which then bloomed into longing,
and withered into disdain
     which, may eventually transform into something else...

but never... 

     indifference.

October '99