cold morning in april
and fading fast:
the shape of her,
half sharp, half real,
enough for now,
make it enough,
make it last one more minute,
just one more minute,
stop, just stop,
wait,
just another shared breath,
just one more whole life behind closed eyes,
i see the garden,
the green death, the blood bricks,
you speak a solemn spell,
the knotweed trembles,
the pines cry,
i wish you’re real again,
not a collection of days,
not a name carved,
not a tree in a deaf forest falling,
just to hear you,
what i wouldn't kill and bury and kill again,
but i break apart at the thought of a tear,
and the days gotta roll by,
and the train never takes a break,
station to station to station to black,
and i need you back,
i hear and smell and see and feel and love above all things real: a shimmer of a shadow,
but there you are,
the mind cradling
the heart it seems,
and if it was not of you,
i’d dream of a dreamless death
I like to think that he forgets, keeps trying and then makes a new post about it