Inventing shooting stars
to keep you here and hopeful
while I finagle with my courage
and inch closer to your smile
on a bridge that runs over no river.
The shade and the light,
a yin yang movie theater,
concealing our back-row distractions
under the din and darkness of
a film we're both missing.
Afternoon sunlight chopped up
by the blinds and served
through them, like hors d'oeuvres,
onto our warm bodies
lying together above the covers.
Echoes of our shouting
in the quiet of an impasse that will grow
into a chasm that runs under no bridge
if I reach over and hold you.
Which I always do.
Closing your bedroom door,
aching to turn around and silence your sobbing
that follows me all the way
through your apartment
and out of your future.