A cluster of butterflies
should be called a jest
because of the way
they tumble through the air.
We were wild once,
our gardens ripe
with forbidden fruit,
our words falling
carelessly into space.
–
There is no cure
for love
only a slow
amelioration of guilt.
The heart
which exists
within and without
is turned
so that the nerve endings
are totally exposed.
–
My blood is sludge,
it pools and gathers
in the spaces
that you once occupied.
When I close my eyes
I am vivid
with your memory,
vivid with the taste
of my tears.
Tears that run both
hot and cold.
Tears which beat
against my cheeks,
gentle as pixie wings.
–
If I were diaphanous
I would accompany you
to the dark places
and the bright places
simply to be at your side.
–
In a universe
where time does not
move in a linear fashion
forever is an unbreakable promise.
A day eating sundaes in the park
could be eternal
or it could be two shadows
devolving in the light
of a new day.
–
I am inside out.
Humiliated.
Alone
with my memories
both good and bad.
I am not sick
so much as fallen.
God may not love me
any less
but you do
and that hurts
more than enough.
–
To you I am the enemy,
the interloper.
I know too much.
I understand nothing.
We lost each other
in a simple game
of hide and seek.
–
There are scars
where the stars
should be.
Furrows
of indifference.
Dreams
without fire.
Dreams
like small bones
which crack
when tested.
To me you are life itself.
I miss you
sounds trite
because you
were and always will be
momentous.
mindlovemisery 