forgetting to remember

A lost sense of detachment

is losing its luster.

While a pebble I've thrown,

is waiting to settle.

While this house will crumble,

with the weight of our time here,

we neither remember,

or forget the fear.

While my grandfather boulders

his moss and a hard place,

to drink while he's sober,

I count the lines in his face.

I'm finding a motive,

to kill both the parents,

simply though waiting,

for a price I can't pay.

When the winter bone chills the stone,

where you romance the moment you stole,

I'll be counting out blessings,

and raiding our homes