When you can hardly remember what his voice sounds like,
Thousands of memories collide like a small blip in this continuum.
Then a new caress holds you tenderly and offers you sweet sanctuary from the dark abyss of forgetting.
His touch is fresh, then bitterly cold like swallowing an ice cube.
It melts and ebbs as a tide sweeps over you and warms you to the core.
Does the world stop spinning when I hold your hand?
I could lay my head in your lap for the rest of my life.
When we are nestled together, I don’t need a protector for you are he&she&it&all.
The dark comes back early in the morning.
It crawls and creeps before it becomes all-consuming.
The touch is absent now, there is no light in your eyes or in your heart.
The mouth, the mind is hollow and I no longer recognize you.
It is a facade, one that masks the dark beneath and that steals the new memories made in our private continuum.
You take them and hide them like knives from children.
I’ve got your bullets in my pocket, ammunition I’d never dare to use.
Waiting on a word is more painful than lying here alone.
I hate the cold,
But isn’t a little sad to see the last of the snow melt?
