halfsleep

we open our hands to the inviting calm

i cradle her head in my hand

we share butterfly kisses

her heart is not mine to mend

decompression

a silent soliloquy in front of a clouded mirror

a often-recited rehearsal in the hopes to avoid your disappointment

another cigarette, a cold bed

another apéritif, unending lament

don't be

"this is not up for discussion," she said loudly with equal parts frustration and conviction.

all i can do is stare at her eyes as they shape-shift from bedroom to evil.

i imagine tracing her outline, a template in which i can create the perfect silhouette of her at any given moment. i make a valiant effort to remember the details of her gentle hands, flowing locks, fragile cheek bones and suggestive stature.

a temporary picture of an ideal, i commit this to memory before the lens is shattered by our sounds of disagreement and discontent.

she runs her delicate hands over my wrists and up my forearms, warmth radiating from her body and sincerity emanating from her virulent voice.

i remain motionless with downcast eyes.

it was easier to give in.

enfold

enwrapped in silence

creating barriers

i worry about

conversations we haven't had

hollow

your heart was the metronome in which my footsteps fell in line.

i strained to achieve synchronicity, only to reap nothing.