following you into the dark
tethering my hair to the walls
smudging more sooty fingerprints
along the labyrinth

the lack of light
is kind to our expression
memory grasps with desperate hands
takes initiative
assuming position in the blackness

we fall into line
never missing a cue
never dropping a beat
lingering in the void
where it doesn't matter much if
eyes are closed or not

the absurdity
leashed with sticky threads
in the blindness I am
at home in your wake

 

82

 

 

Love brings me a cup of coffee,

walking slowly so it warms her hands in our cold house 

 

Love forgets to pick up dry cleaning and the milk

leaves the dishes in the sink

but remembers to buy my favorite ice cream 

 

Love sits on the couch and does not share her blanket

but tucks her toes under me, to maintain contact 

 

the mistake is looking for a logical answer

because there is none,  there has never been one 

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