I trip on the colours, blink like a child in
mornings lit by yellow drips of vacuous veins
winding sweet around your neck.
Your smile doesn't visit here anymore,
your darkness significant only in silence as
I touch your skin with fingers too insubstantial
for you to feel them.
I swoop low and cradle you in arms that
chafe like barbed wire caresses and
your eyes don't water from the smoke
I no longer hide.
We migrate, constricted and contained, sinking
like shattering shards of ice, separate atoms
only held together for so long.
I search for your reflection in the morning puddles,
the rain from yesterday still wet against my skin,
but the sky above seems empty; it does not talk back.
Your transparent presence today echoes my own
and time has come to embrace our salt,
for all left now is the places
where you are not.