To see the fall, the bend at the waist,

The length of your hair set around you.

The parting of your lips, and the fleeting of hot breath.

It touches me, no tomorrow.

I know there is no tomorrow.

I am defeated again, inches from you,

from the branches, the muscles, the veins,  the sinews.

Inches from all you used to say to me

From your mind that remembers the softness you gave to me.

I’m

Straining and reaching

receiving nothing from you.

To see the fall, the end of amour

The end of everything I was to you.

No tomorrow.

I would still try to be it for you.

Be zeal, be warmth, be tomorrow for you.

My bony hands, cold and reaching for you.

The porcelain wrist that used to feel

the leave-taking of your lips

Crooks to no tomorrow.

Crooks and croons, there’s no tomorrow.

There’s no tomorrow,

I pray you.