my limbs ache for loss of you
and your absence leaves
black holes in my dreams.

our lives are not always
better for
choosing the fantasy.

(are the little things we remember
more important than the big
things we forget)?

from written page or mouth,
we cannot take back
the unspoken.

from here I can still see
the bruises,
never meant to be.

let your heart forgive, if
it can, and in that space,
crowd happy memories and
that we will still hear
when the world is
no more.

the discarded left-overs
of our days
are the only sure signs of life
and this moment
that has seemed to
slip away
I swear
isn’t going
any place at all.