My love,
Tongue of vitriol,
amongst ripped pages.
Amongst unaltered belief of a winged partridge
at my back beckoning my faults.
Tears that stream, like trees with broken nerves
that never touch the ground.

This is what I see in the darkened hour,
This is what I see in the mirror,
amongst the pillars of the chapel
a figment of my imagination,
I am but a pigeon amongst a sea of doves,
incapable of words, incapable of love letters like Rilke the poet.
Only capable of vitriol at the tongue
scorning love, scorning life, scorning death
yet living it. . .how ironic.

I hear your voice,
  nagging "put it back". . .
I hear your voice
  saying "it'll be okay". . .
I hear you everyday,
  am I crazed & deranged?
I just want to feel your love and see your face,
   for a moment in time,
      when you are not gone.

Wasn't eating properly,
  lost a little weight. . .
Old pictures,
  smiles on the faces. . .
***** Laundry,
  perfume on the nose. . .
Clean Sheets,
  your arm on my waist. . .
your touch+ theirs,
for in this love
   we are not 2 but 3.

I look in the mirror,
10 years passed in a breeze,
older, fatter, a wrinkle begins to form.
Youth begins to evade me,
Yet I do not feel sad nor glad,
I am simply living, okay, content with myself.
Is it not odd? Is it not strange? That I no longer care.

I smell the air, as clean as a city air can be.
I feel the pollen, with its unrelenting itch on my nose,
I hear the birds getting ready for the summer heat,
I see the lovers who always cross our street at three,
I taste the honey, that you loved in your tea.
I smile, three years in the dark,
three years blind, death, within the darkness of this world.
For you are gone, and that is okay.
For in these moments I know you stand by me.

I'll never fall in love again,
for I never knew love until I met you,
I never knew to cry,
I never knew to drink,
I never knew to long,
until I met you.
I'll never fall in love again,
for love is a disappointment,
& my greatest mistake.

You forgot,
and yet I wait.
In our home,
with the peach tree that blossoms in the spring,
the lantana that loves its sun,
and the rose that only grows stems.
longing to forget, longing to leave,
but stuck in the same place.
waiting for you.