Even with all that we’ve seen,
I dream of you often.
You and all your similarities to the couples I watch
Disintegrate before me,
All the great lovers of art failing to keep their art whole
With each other tied onto their pinky strings;
And the scary thoughts come racing forward like tsunami songs,
Like horses dully trotting on cobblestone,
Like all that we have learned to expect the night after brilliance shines its
Calmness down on us.
I feel deeply alone in my quiet,
Even with your soul surrounding mine like wet cement,
And I can’t help but picture it all projected onto blank spaces,
Onto empty nostalgia,
Onto all that I was covering all that I am.