this winter
12/06/2012 03:52 p.m.


In the practicality that is my brain,
I begin to disentangle myself
From the life we nearly built –

This will go,
This will stay,
This I want
But cannot have
And so, to bid my adieus.

The supple, spongy places in my heart
Begin the long and painstaking task
Of digging the grave –
For Death is our stalker,
Its cold and steely breath
Rasping into the everyday of it.

By now, I know its rattle well -
The way lungs strain for air
That will not come in.

We’ve agreed to weather
The holidays together –
Neither of us eager
To spend another New Year’s Eve
In the grips of solo journeys.

I listen for your indecision,
How it echoes my own,
And I wonder how it is
We came
To be.

I am currently: chill
Listening to: my heart