On The Loss Of Time

I have enjoyed this, playing house
going to bed with our hair wet
breathing as one animal and
waking in a silent embrace

I was fed by coffee and the
time to read and make words
I padded about, barefoot
wearing your shirt and my tired eyes

I thank you for sharing your
towel and your toothbrush
your lone pillow and the
milk and sugar

I see two houses, your belongings, and
your growing anger

I did not enjoy the morning you
pretended to break the dishes
in the communal sink
smiling with your eyes closed

I was bent shapeless by
your tears, your hairy struggles
Your unrealized ambitions
removed my backbone

I first swallowed fear at
the ominous contents of
your skull, pumping iron and
burning through women ad infinitum

I soldiered on, folding the
laundry and breathing
a lungful in
a lungful out

I was constant as the ticking clock
until you could not hear me
even as I kicked and screamed
on every godforsaken hour

Remember the fervor
with which I persisted in
loving you like my art or
a wonderfully infected child

And in the end, for that is
where we are, I leave
without a word, for your
pupils hold nothing but acid rage

I hope I am still tangible
hanging on your wall
hovering in the haze and
melting in the candelabra

When all this falls away
I do not know if your hair
will be long or short or
thick or thin but

I do know you will be
unable to remain numb and
the heavy tide will rush in,
an angry mother

Do not forget the sound of my alarm
my grabbing hands and my kiss
the poems that you wrote in me and
my spirit that you broke in two

Hold tightly to these for
they fade as our beauty fades

I see five years, your broken glasses, and
my rotting love

1 February 2011