I can't hear him over the sound of his own weak resolve
I can't hear her over the chasm of years gone by and years to come
I lied.
They thought the problem solved.
At night I would trace lines on angels' hands
Once
Twice
Three times
Solved
I ate of the jungle and slept by the river
He breathed in the fire and kept in the sick.
He listened
He had a story for every scar
But I did not
I would have carved roses from bone and skin
and given them to her
He'd face an army if they tried to take the same from him
And her
Eyes now dry of that which once stained them
A witch with no wish
save for those for herself
A mountain out of a molehill, who painted her lips with sin.
Then there's the people outside of myself
A man with broken knuckles, handing out toffeed sweets.
Parents with cigarette stained lips
and mother and father
caught in their game.
Without and within
Et fin
Because I want to spend more of my time
drinking water from glass bottles
and asking her to tell me about the weather.