After the killing...

The third piece in our fill-in project took a drastic turn, as things usually do with Paul. He did not title his piece, but I refer to it as After The Killing. I sent Paul the odd lines of my 20 line poem and this is what he came up with. Enjoy.

sips of coffee
with you after the killing

take the place of
nightmares;

under the table
is safe,

our feet, not seeking
silk sand or red carpet ache

to just be still
as can be;

in no hurry to start
the pain again, we hope for sex

and sections of newspaper
devoted to weed and poetry...

finally broken  by the whine
of my daydream, the ghost screams

to relieve herself
of me,

and sun on face, you ask
for a refill.