My freezing lips and rugged filters
keep an eye out for constellations
and the genius who devised and built her.
Each street light I pass seems to speak
saying we should start it over.
But each memory says that I’ve had closure.
She should paint teardrops down my cheek
because I’d really like to cry for her.
Would they flow like waves on the concrete brink
just the way our lips combine?
Stars flickering over the shore as her heart
beats over mine.
Passion melts into one like porcelain
and we hold together through scenes
you can’t imagine.
Her tears may run down the fingers mine
used to lace
and yet not one falls from my weary face.
We embrace in the seasoned shattered space
that we called our place of love.
Hatred fired into life like porcelain
and we live this life from the start again
as the lights go off.