Can't have it all at once.
Although you've received all the side effects and a touch.
Things like this take time: incredibly too much.
But you will be willing to deal with such
using a weak form of patience as your crutch.

Held below
Now, and forever, I know I'll never escape the underneath.
Tethered and storm weathered
with my independence no longer in reach. (Armslength)

Arrival upon arrival the pattern is ruined, if we leave off where we last picked up the want is mistaken
for loneliness.
Trying to take it easy
Trying to tolerate your plight of reason
all wrapped in guises and relatively decent.

At the thought of the moments
We were choked up like your sister last Christmas eve when the wall came down
and the nails stayed put, rusting in fixture
Not unlike myself after the towel was thrown in, sopping wet with all types of misfiring on
our ends into the CENTER,
Oh, that golden galvanized CENTER!
That loses shine and color but remains glimmering whether we pay attention or not.
All in all:
There is still the shimmering wet spot
The arguments we hid and forgot
Blooming passion spoiled by rot
We go on saying the wall will pick itself up
and we know very well it will not.

My shadow is long.
It is measured by years
And drunk on my fears.

I raise trembling my hand
Watching my shadow stand
Stretching longer and longer,
Than my body.
(My shadow is stronger)
Than my body.

It severs from me
And gnashes its teeth.

My shadow's smile,
Stretches the mile,
On and on

Cause my shadow is long.

Eternal brood the shadows on this ground,
Dreaming of centuries that have gone before;
Great elms rise solemnly by slab and mound,
Arched high above a hidden world of yore.
Round all the scene a light of memory plays,
And dead leaves whisper of departed days,
Longing for sights and sounds that are no more.

Lonely and sad, a specter glides along
Aisles where of old his living footsteps fell;
No common glance discerns him, though his song
Peals down through time with a mysterious spell.
Only the few who sorcery's secret know,
Espy amidst these tombs the shade of Poe.

The trees overlapped
overhead creating a warm
cloister.
Harvey's car cooed past
the vibrant green
and sputter-stopped
at the plastic, fishhead
mailbox.
He drove up the grey gravel drive,
hopped out of his car and
with eager stride
headed toward
the door of the widow Prine.
"Hello, Harvey," Mrs. Prine
greeted from behind the screen
in her always-sugary-hushed tone.

"Hey, Mrs--I mean hello, Margaret."

"Haha, you remembered this time.
C'mon in, sweetie."

Harvey's steps matched gentle creaks
in wooden floor.
Pictures of Mrs. Prine's
three children lined the walls.

"That's Mattie, Cindy's baby. My first grandbaby,"
Mrs. Prine beamed.

"She's a cutie."

"Well thank you," Mrs. Prine picked up
some magazines lying on the couch,
"feel free to sit here. Can I get you something to drink?
Some wine, maybe? It's a red."

"Sure, sure. Sounds good."

Mrs. Prine stepped into the kitchen,
as the evening news played at a barely
audible volume.

"Oh Lord. I forgot to put the wine in the
fridge, Harvey."

"That's okay, Mrs. Prine. I can--"

"Margaret."

"Margaret, I can drink it warm."

"How about some ice cubes?"

"That works too."

Mrs. Prine's husband died
driving an 18-wheeler,
six-miles outside of Dallas
two or three years ago.
One of the few times
a sedan won a war
against a big engine.

Her cheek bones
jutted sharply from
her face,
deep crimson lipstick
and light eyeshadow
emphasized her
few deep wrinkles,
as if she wore them
with pride.

They sat sipping lukewarm
red wine, saying nearly nothing--
touching only during commercial
breaks.

When the news ended,
Mrs. Prine grabbed Harvey's hand,
led him to the bedroom,
filled with pictures of her and her husband.

The love they made--
textbook in its precision,
light in its passion--
finished chapter,
Harvey reached for his cigarettes.

"Sweetie, please don't smoke in here."

"Oh, I'm sorry, Margaret."

Harvey stared at her old life's relics,
wrapped his arm around her,
pulled her naked flesh against his,
a summer breeze crawled through
open window,
and Harvey said,

"So, tell me more about your husband."

Mrs. Prine smiled, brushed her hair
out of her eyes,
and with a retrospective sigh,
she began.