That day of goodbye
I broke glass into little slithers
that now still swim beneath my skin,
such beautiful glass reflections
sending each of the seven colours away.

You were excited;
I couldn't look into
those finite eyes of yours as
your skin touched mine
for the last time.

The day I said that last goodbye
boiled the water from dry eyes
and now burnt blood vessels beat on
despite the fact that my heart has gone.

you are the echo in places after everyone's sound has gone.

you are the reluctant resonance in air between breaths.

you are the leaving that's overstayed its welcome.

you are the racket in deprivation of company.

you are the uproar after music has ceased.

you are the chord eternally reappearing.

you are reverberations of want, of lack.

you are sweet tinnitus in every hush.

you are every absent reoccurrence.

you are epitomes of entirety.

your gale still lingers.

but you do not.

you do not.

you do.

not.

I've added up those infringements
stumped them safe, sleeping on dewed grass,
notches burnt on pain of others past to
flare to light in the light of future true.

Goodnight sweet princes, please let
me abandon you soft in this dark
I want to move without your strictures
to seek valleys again crossed with blue.

Numbers lament from my touch but this
I know to be true, it is not my turn to
dance in the ditches, but I would set fire to
dawn to seek sweet signal of your hue.

It was all dark skies and twilight and
rare glimpses and wondrous sunlight
peeking behind lurking rain clouds and
I let you take my hand the night that

Jacob died and you led me to places I
would have avoided, glass sheared my feet
but you smiled so sweetly and it emptied
that void for a little while. And you said

such terrible things about falling so
I bricked up my mouth. But I wonder
after I departed, irrevocably wordless,
if you stole that void for your own.

Dash the darkness from the seat
this night is one to admit defeat,
I shall bring to you each echo new
and let us laugh to life's conceit.

Green tea equations and cigarettes and
a distinct lack of food and
dark night lovely lonely walks and
maybe tomorrow
she will wake in a life
where she can love all parts of herself.

Can you feel that?
What a wondrous sensation.
She takes cold hands and
questions and buries them
in that empty stomach that
sings loudest when she fails
at sleeping. This girl with worn patches
and an overwhelming sense of
irony; there's too much to her
but still she is not enough.

I met you at the station
you said wanted to go anywhere but here.

I said to look for the tracks that
are the most uninviting. You
took my arm. I wished for

something better and here it came,
disguised by dirt, dislocation and greying days.

Your ticket says no return but
mine is undefined, watchful, ready
to bolt or to linger. You say you love
the stations from afar.

There's not much of me
requested, but the splinters that you
do, I gift hopelessly. The

smallest glimpse of light approaching
filtered through dank, oppressive air
are superior, surely? than finite life
exhausted watching the dark.

By the night you amplify,
when you have enjoyed my fill and
left with little but fingerprints and
recollections, casting parallel shadows
on directions that await.

I give you almost everything
except for the words that
travel nowhere but my head.

You gave me the signal
a briefest flash of red
that stopped this in its tracks.