Behind the shade of billowed curtain I discover traces of you in whispers on the cold November wind. They do not know me here. They do not understand me the way that you do and I say that having offered them chance after chance.
Please let me come away with you. You don’t even have to tell me where we are going, I think I already know. A place of darkness where fear sits with fear, recoiling from one another, chill of night and bitterness upon a broken wing.
Alive light. Alive light.
I clutch at you with golden claw, pull the blood from my own heart to fill you full of divine creation. When he kisses my mouth he believes in love and I am crumbling down from the high of desperation for my former self.
I don’t need him anymore and this is a pain I will carry alone inside of my rib/cage. I only need the silence. I want only the cool light of blue morning cut along the naked curve of my back.
I miss you, please return.
I miss the way we used to be before I ever knew you existed in the palms of my tired empty hands. Eyes black as midnight. Prismatic dilation.
Love should be an opening. Love should be a word which expands outward and never stops. Not in this place. In this place love is spat out like saliva, cigarettes and ash.
I close the door, I light the candles, I pace in a circle, round and around, slowly, deliberately unwinding the clock. I remember exactly what you said to me: Be very careful what you let yourself believe.