I have written too many words on this and you’ve moved on, almost pathologically, so I will just say the poetry is vanquished, the light dimmed.

All those matters falling about us,

our love standing soundly

real for me and I am not afraid to say

that I wanted you in this life as one flame gripping two wicks.

Instead, I am humbled and shamed, only wanting to breathe and stretch, run but I have struggled and I have done so alone.

It ends;

along whatever lines drawn

break grid-side, and

the math flown

your veins

laid

like tables’ glimmer

into seas of hearts

pooling,

spirals collide,

until love

forms you

from nothing;

a quiet presence almost missed,

peanut butter cups.