What hurts is
I can still imagine
The feeling of your nails
In my back,
Your lips
On my neck,
My hand
On your throat.
A moment reaching
It’s point of crisis,
And none of it feels wrong,
Then when it’s over
There would be nothing
Left to do but
Wake up the next day
To your sleeping face;
Blanketed by the quiet light of morning,
Walk into the kitchen,
Make you strawberry pancakes
(Probably a little burnt),
Kiss your cheek,
And tell you how beautiful you are.

Just like that, everything was still.
My blood ran cold. Air trapped itself in my lungs.
Bursting forward but stopped by some
Force within me. My numb lips grew warm.

(Then hot.
It was all so familiar.)

And for a moment there was time.
Time for you
And time for me
Time to hear words spill out from your lips

(Like sweet honey
And maraschino cherries.)

Time for miracles,
Time for horrors,
Time for a thousand more “I’m sorry’s”
And a thousand “You know I ******* loved you.”’s

(To think “plans change a lot.”
We have that written in ink.)

Time for Parisian flats
For golden morning light pouring through windows,
And typewriters,
And a cup of coffee growing cold.

(I’ll come to where you are
Alone in the quiet light)

Just like that, the moment was passed.
Time was up.
I could breathe.
My lips were numb again.

(And I was happy. You were happy.
We were happy.)

Black mare in the background,
Crumbling castle.
A personal opera’s decrescendo
You are dust,
And to dust you shall return.
Eras fade, gold dulls to plastic.
A crown is just a hat.
You, an old woman.