Delaney

Here's the question, why on a secret phone, behind a crushed request, you endure whispers, in hushed father's tone, a tight but sore trespass, the reason you’re like this, flushed within your core, to escape some hit list, lemon bright with excuses, say you've been honed, to blow away insouciance, your voice calls afresh, no one wants to know, a lonely time of penance, you are careful of inquests, face as blue as bone, illicit daughter's cigarettes, you smoke on your own.