Bedroom (Republished)

 BEDROOM

in the brevity of this room

where we last were we,

before the searing darkness

of dead stars burned

these holes in my heart –

before the sadness of trees

in the middle days of spring

dropped their leaves,

a thousand broken hearts

skittering across the cold earth –

before the words

that sank an armada of passions

were cast

white hot iron shots,

still aglow from the forge,

shattering the forgery we had become –

before these,

in the brevity of this room

I loved you.

the trees stare

through the naked windows,

disconsolate witnesses

of the emptiness

cuddled beside me.

they speak to me

about lost love

as if love can vanish

like a mislaid memory.

there are more birds now

listening for you

they ignore my pleas

to experience

the pleasures of quiet

reflection.

I listen to the music

that scored our lives

when there was a we

in this room

that conjures you

while I sleep,

granting to my dreams

your smell,

the weight of your body

as we are sacredly we,

your wet slivers drooled

upon my chest.

I inhale fully, forcing

your absence to memory

imagining you

even sweaty from your hard walks

angry, silly, sullen,

joyous, rapturously asleep,

cooking big pots

of messy, nameless foods.

but reality

ignores my desires

the trees do not care,

they carry on,

leaves turning, birds

flittering unaware

that I breathed

again your air

this morning

without permission

because there is no one

here to grant it.

before the words

that sank an armada of passions

were cast

white hot iron shots,

still aglow from the forge,

shattering the forgery we had become –

before these,

in the brevity of this room

I loved you then

as now.