Black Heart

Over the bridge at midnight in stygian dark, the nitro-glycerine juggernaut rammed a tyre in a pothole, detonating rib-splitting eruptions, jolting to wakefulness, blackness, airless silence. Wildly clutching, rigid hands like knotted talons at the bare, still chest; river dancers in razor stilettos reeling and jigging up and down both arms; sweat droplets flying to coverlet unseen. I looked for you, glimpsed a black outline, indistinct charcoal engraving curled in a blanket of night; if I could have spoken words I would have told you goodbye, honest. I would have told you sorry, don 't worry, things will be O.K., that, despite it all, I love you; most of all, my dying breath would beseech you kiss the children for me at least once a day.