be

she
doesn't get it,
the whole of
this nothing;
her purpose
within each word,
the sounds she heard
haunting
each breathless slur
of her

she questions,
how absurd,
that sense
should spawn of
nothing but his
absent presence;
dwelling,
where answers wait
beyond now yet
before then,
when his
present absence
first became nothing
but his memory
of her

she knows,
the sights
he sees
in search
of her
how rivers
flow
when he lives
these days
and survives
those nights
drown them;
save them all,
in ships
and sands
above this place
of complacent
existence.

she feels,
emotion-
distress, yet
knows she is
no damsel.
He is
no prince.
This is when
pain was named;
when neither hers
nor his served
any deference;
these faithful games
which loved for years
to play
would lust no more for seconds

She believes,
that belief in her is
Here,
beneath covers
tucked in,
ready,
his courage
waiting
to carry them where
found was safe
and lost no longer cared to lose her.
where madness meets method-
who said
they could not be-
should they
depend upon
perception or make
their own bed
for those weary few
who defy gravity
and live
themselves to
death.
How dare fate
be so cruel yet,
too kind,
to thieve what she
graciously sacrifices,
in faith blind;
that she shall breath;
hope,
in this apnea,
resting only
in daydreams
of her.

she holds,
that moment
close to her memory,
when his absence
meant that world
forgot to
feel; to be,
before he forgets
to live,
she visits
to give
a kiss,
to return this world,
to his lips;
that he may hope
to hold
some semblance
of her.

~Deus fortuno