Your last kiss
left a broken wing
between my thighs.
Strangely,
it never stops beating.
It’s like an unending
fleeing of flesh.
Only the rain battering
the land between us
dispossess me equally.
Listening to music
makes no sense anymore,
every song is a red ticking
echoing inside,
not a clear blue wind
washing the hours away.
Breathing has shaped
you into root
and left me
with a dislodged heart.
Maybe
I’m time’s only toy.
Maybe that’s why
it keeps playing
the same trick
though I’m already apart.
“It will pass” is what
you said about this love.
Of all the lies
you said over the phone,
this one was the first.
You remember,
don’t you ?
The sound of the little trumpet
of death.
You shared the delusion of angels,
these poor unbleeding
things.
Among the spiraling bodies,
this love is as red as a mapple leaf,
redder, even.
Doom cannot recognize it,
all absorbed as it is
in ending the living
with a dot.
But me, I do,
It’s mine

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