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.