Ain’t it strange, my love
No longer wept over
No longer sought after
Clutching only on to
The last strands of nostalgia.
Love is all but gone
Left only its shadow
To recoil
Nervous and ashamed
At the horror of the hour.
Ain’t it sad, my love
That the pool of black
So deep it grazed
The very grounding of my heart,
Over-brimmed with depth.
Wherein it lumbers
A place of starry faces
Where we are told
People speak in hands.
And walk with tongues.
Ain’t it known, my love
That I was swimming
Body aching, toes numbing
In that cruel abyss
Red lips turning blue.
You saw the shiver
Of coldness defied
And biting my ankle,
Threw me out
Poseidon gasping.
Ain’t it us, my love
That swam wallowing
In the pool of our sons
Bathwater, left too long
Our stay dripping down,
Down, down, to a sea
Of bony fingers
Grasping, outstretched, hungry,
For the ivory pale
Of our frigid skin.
