Spoiler! :
I don't think we can go back
to the days when we would whisper in the decaying light
and you would trace little flowers across my chest;
and I don't think the voices in my head can build any higher
before they form a chorus that crescendos and wails
in the vain hope that somehow you'll want to listen.
The last few weeks have been so full of veiled threats
and half-hearted attempts at reconciliation
that my dreams leave me crying and clawing at the sweat-soaked pillows
where I once woke to find your eyes, fired and glowing, consuming me as I slept.
You once told me that if we want it enough, things will work out; but if that's true,
why am I carving your name across the floorboards?
In a world far away from here, where it might make a difference,
I would say the gravity of our hopes and dreams locked our words in little orbits
that circled our heads. But one day our lips drew so close
that the ellipses collided and shattered to bits of glass that tore at our feet.
And as we stooped to clean up the mess we made,
we realized that love surrounded by broken promises
isn't love at all.
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