510

It was not Death, for I stood up,
And all the Dead, lie down—
It was not Night, for all the Bells
Put out their Tongues, for Noon.

It was not Frost, for on my Flesh
I felt Siroccos—crawl—
Nor Fire—for just my Marble feet
Could keep a Chancel, cool—

And yet, it tasted, like them all,
The Figures I have seen
Set orderly, for Burial,
Reminded me, of mine—

As if my life were shaven,
And fitted to a frame,
And could not breathe without a key,
And ’twas like Midnight, some -

When everything that ticked—has stopped—
And Space stares all around—
Or Grisly frosts—first Autumn morns,
Repeal the Beating Ground—

But, most, like Chaos—Stopless—cool—
Without a Change, or Spar—
Or even a Report of Land—
To justify—Despair.

463

I live with Him—I see His face—
I go no more away
For Visitor—or Sundown—
Death’s single privacy

The Only One—forestalling Mine—
And that—by Right that He
Presents a Claim invisible—
No wedlock—granted Me—

I live with Him—I hear His Voice—
I stand alive—Today—
To witness to the Certainty
Of Immortality—

Taught Me—by Time—the lower Way—
Conviction—Every day—
That Life like This—is stopless—
Be Judgment—what it may—

It started with fun nights and stopless laughter.
It started with sweet kisses in our blanket fort, warmed by the lights hanging above us and surrounded by the soft music repeatedly mumbling love words.

It faded into talking less and only hours within 2 weeks of seeing each other, but that didn't bother us.
It should have.
It faded into ignoring each other's texts and hiding from words that start with L, hopelessly wishing that the initial spark would hold up a house of cards instead of burning it down.

It is presently a mutual relationship of two acquaintances who act like they don't know what to do with their freed hands hanging loosely instead of being held.
It is presenty an awkward time for me. Where I don't want you, but I miss you, or the things you used to represent at least, like passion and things that aren't supposed to be.

Key words: aren't supposed to be.