The Annum

Not a day goes by that I don’t softly wonder if and why. 
But here you are, having joined me to rest in our nest of lies. 
Woman, could you let me know what you are? 
Strip your soul ever so slowly, tease me your name. 
There isn’t a hint of wonderlust, but I know we both hide with shame. 
Before we fall into a routine, and it’s all the same, 
let our hands linger long after we know it is too late. 

Isn’t it hard love, living the good life? 
You smile gently, hoping not to tell me much. 
As is such, I accept, as I the pawn wish to sanction our touch. 
Looking out, you seem to be searching for something. 
Clear as day, you’re patrolling for an avenue of escape. 
Understandable. After all, a shared stare is heavier than conversation. 

Silence. 
We harbour no complaints, 
as we seem content to take shelter under this tower of a pause. 
A break, a moment to still breathe before we are governed by your law. 
Oh, what a tired eye once saw, 
now being ripped to shreds by realities claw. 

You take your hand away. 
You’ll never know it, but you might as well have offered 
to shoot me, it would have been my preference. 

I would hope for something else, but I know the formula. 
Our eyes will drift and our hearts will dissolve, 
all by the failure of the little, the large 
and the sanctity of everything I missed and you denied. 
Everything I screwed up and every time you didn’t bother to fucking try. 

The raw needs attention, but you won’t be its nurse. 
The memory needs a mother, but only will it be loved by this single father. 
In the madness of this divide, I know my spirit is fuelled 
on nothing but the contours of your hand. A kiss of cyanide. 

Still you stand in attendance. 
Could we maybe break this chain? 
Your friends have long given up on me, 
but the executioner seems surprised by our exhibit of pain. 
Love so young does not often find itself in a lane so dark, 
stark the hope that I will wake up from this without a mark. 
I accept. Tell my story through the black bruises of the lark. 

Oh dearest, can’t you see? 
Right now, right here, we could run! 
Take what we want and tell the world it can get fucked! 
It sounds crazy, I know, but it’s up to us. 
Won’t you consider it? 

But you have long left. 
Your body is still fixed beside me in waiting, 
but your spirit dear, it caught an earlier train. 
I can see you now, looking out the window, 
indifferent to the urgency of my frantic waving. 
You knows your needs, as you have decided to reside 
in the temple template of a future demise. 
You have your blueprints, your materials, 
your potential, and with that bundle you have 
decided to devise and synchronise the end of our ties. 
You wish to build your new bed, and so lie in it. 
All I ask, as architect, is my due payment. 
I need it to stay warm at night.

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