Close

And as the sound of rain cast over,

the loneliest night,
I had seen in ages,

I wondered;

What were we now,

that the stitches had finally been,
cast off.

Forever sewn between the moments we longed for,

wrapped around 
the indifferent,
 milky,
neck of time.

Around and around and around. 

No more fighting he said.

And I knew it was over.

Because fighting is all there is,

in the war of love.

My fishy gills.

His feathered wings.

And all the space that exists between them.

So much love for one another,

with one eye facing up,

out of the distorting water.

I could have lived,

forever in the moment,

when his laundry soaked my hands,

in the grime

of his hard won days.

Coming clean on the line,

night after night.

And with the rain coming down,

I became less lonely,

remembering the smell 

of skin,

and hair

and blankets. 

Remembering the way

it feels to be loved,

as one loves pure reason.

Sickly.

Powerful.

All encompassing love.

And how close we came,

to having it.