she untangles
from around
me,


like a
ball of
cheap

drunken

yarn.


then finds
her way
down our
bedroom
stairs.


upon reaching
the bottom

she throws
away a
glance

in my
general
direction.


much like
a person
waiting on

a bench
for a bus

would do,


when they
see a

car go by

then realize,


there is
no one

in it that
they really
know
or care
about.



it is just

a courtesy



"I think I

might know

you nod."


no need for

I love you's

this morning.


good-bye will

suffice.


and this
evening

when the
bus comes

to bring
her back..


It will
find me
waiting,


like a

wooden

drugs store

indian

at the
bottom

of the
stairs


eager to

meet her
there.


every day

right on

time.


it is not

so much
a game

we play,



as it

it has
become
instead.

a almost

lifeless

existence a


scare crows

ritual we
act..


biding time.
every morning
we awake.



sleep walking

love through

our day.


never
realizing,


our future
never
had anywhere
to go

to begin

with.