.
Last night
she said I was cold.
Unreachable.
Surrounded in a halo of frost.
It burnt her fingers
as she dared to touch,
but there was little there.
Just … frost-bite,
and the sense
that she was alone in the room.
In body I was there,
but the Boat of Millions of Years
was sailing through my eyes
to the intended destination,
my lost mind.
She called to me
but I was to far to hear.
Down her soft cheeks
the tears did stream,
as she screamed my name
over and over.
She screamed until
the screams turned to sobs,
as the slow realisation
that I no longer knew her,
knew me, knew anything,
hit her like a wave of grief,
freezing her emotions dead.
Last night
she said I was cold.
And I was cold
because I knew that it was
our Last Night.

© Pagan Paul (16/02/20)

How do I love thee?
Let me count the ways
Not a finger shall I straighten
In my computation
As I recount my lamentation
At the havoc that you wrought
No calculator needed
As I reconcile my thesis
Such low number needs no genius
Nor exertion of my thought
For such a pitiable sum
Is understood by deaf and dumb
Neither finger nor my thumb
Nor mathematics bureau
Should be dispatched to this cause
In simple algebraic laws
With your love so full of flaws
My counting is rested now at zero