laid to dust

rapacious Time—

a wicked wench of genesis

who snatched the last breath of brutus

and the bliss before a bloodied elm street

now preys on christened souls

none the wiser.

is it not enough to let two hearts

beat together

for only a glimmering moment?

to let four walls withstand

the venal grip of greedy fingers,

its denizens coiled together

in a flourishing tangle

of cloying longing for a feeling not yet remiss?

for winter’s anarchy is a hiemal militia,

and what looks like a gurney

beckons from beyond the frosted glass--

harkening the end and pulling heart strings taut,

leaving me with the ghost of your outline.

i know it’s only temporary

but even frozen cuts can bleed,

and I’m afraid the wicked wind

will rend your open wounds

and choke the heat of your heart

the further you venture away.

because what if that car is a gurney?

and what if you became a icy memoriam

in the absence of my warmth?

the lonesome dark is cold

and i’m already thinking of you in the past tense

even though you’ve only just left.

Time is crueler than winter,

and an hour is only a trivial blink

in the unbounded third eye of god--

but when i’m with you it's an idyllic existence,

so dear Time,

please take mercy on me.