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,
we never
had anywhere
to go
to begin
with.