we dissolve in cotton sheets;
we fight our body’s resurrection;
our fresh-baked bodies break apart;
I surrender my reflection.
you rub our crumbs from distant eyes;
your face and fingers clog my heart;
your blood leaves stains inside my bed;
from still red ashes you depart.
I lose your eyes
to louder thoughts and garish hollow laughter;
I lose your ears
to brighter sounds and shrill atomic glare;
I lose your face
to distant lands and yet you lie beside me;
I lose my faith
in who you are and dreams that we both share.
But domesticity rears up and throws me from my high horse.
Stand up, kiss lips, sit down, stand up – each day like any other:
A viscous smog of moments storm like sharply buzzing locusts
devo’ring each thought, word and deed; and what I failed to do.
“I’m bored of talking – kiss me”
“But I-” …was not.
And so I lie.
I make the right noises
and touch your skin
and peer down at us
through your glistening body
to my pale face
and I meet my vacant gaze:
The small hours:
Love is not a many splendid thing.
no sparkling crystal
nor gentle rose.
Love is a fist in the dark.
a tyranny of absurdity
a struggle against reality.