All of the leavings become so hard.
Just to sit together with nothing.
Two people alone with a fat lump
Of years and loving to drag away.
To preserve somewhere. And later to
Bother with theories on happiness.
To sit. Waiting. No longer knowing
How to breach this pile of silence
That once was easy with a kiss.
And she bows her head and reaches out
A slim finger of the love that's left.
With no sign of laughter anymore.
Just the green eyes brimful with tears.
And to touch is all there is.
No calling out. Just to bite the lip
And force a smile that says     I can't.
And to look out sadly into the dark
Where she will always be walking. Back.
Towards you. But never calling    Yes.
And finally to fade into the muddle
Of swollen years which drop without
A sound. But just for this moment,
Sheltered in this café, are all the
Places in the world. And all the time.