Alone again, or
fallen from the fold
of intimacy.
Right
but wrong to think that rightness
fills the space now left beside me nightly.
You glimmered in it for a while;
slithered, snaked your limbs
around mine for a time,
like ropes
wound tight around my burning heart.
You stayed.
But cannot stay
because I go from here,
this graveyard town I wander as a ghost
past tombs of endless dreams – the flowers placed beside in youth
have aged as I,
their promise, mine,
slow-choked by unexpected frost.
Winter has come without consent.
And you, stranger,
you become it’s hardest lesson:
that life goes on
with or without;
that bodies, earnest mouths, desires -
spark,
fly,
dance,
then die;
are spoken of no more.
You are not special
neither I.
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