Oh, my love, it seems we
...are at an impasse.
How has love been everything,
And, now,  not nearly enough?

I am worn thin
bracing the waves of your tepid ire.
I fear the hardened heart anger’s object often acquires
But I do not doubt it.

Where are we now
But blundering with half- baked intentions
And no concrete decisions?
The whole of my childhood dreams
Has mildewed and molded
And is rotting in my throat
While yours are atrophying around your arm bones.
This is the price of age.
(This is the punishment for destructive decisions.)

The wood of our bones my be distressed,
But our ship is strong.
There is always a way.

We have only to follow it.