Cold Summers

The loneliness of the summer.

-

I travel to and fro

I bring my wares to you

my heart wide open

while you remain cold.

-

I walk a hundred miles, carrying my heart

and meet your teary eyes

dejected, again.

-

I walk home beneath the sun

removed from the hum of the city:

the screeching in the park,

the busy-ness of the beach

the neon of the arcades, their well-stocked

claw machines.

-

The serenity of the sea

frequently still calls to me

but only by night, when I wander to its edge

and watch it swallow a percentage of my pains,

my hands in the sand

grasping for peace.

-

She’s asleep this late,

and I know her dreams are never of me.

My nightmares are more frequent these days

and they poison my waking hours.

-

After awkward sex, I avoid conversation

and sit by the edge of the bed

lost in my thoughts

moving further away.

-

The planes above multiply,

the transport starts to whir

my bus is coming, I’m

running late, I have to go,

I have to run,

and once again we’re far removed

once again, we’re more detached.

-

I lock up my thoughts and spread them to the sea,

you write yours down and tear them apart,

it creates a rift which I can’t bear to witness

-

I let the saxophone speak for me

and it soothes me into faux-sleep.

You approach the freezing water,

consoling it for this moment.

-

I wake up, the window open,

your side of the bed empty,

curtains blowing in the breeze,

and know I want to die.

-

I was never there,

was never there,

was never there.

-

My silhouette was troubled, and its creator vanishing.

I starved for days, was never there,

I drained myself of everything

I felt the dread overtake and steer towards

a new direction that I never wanted.

-

I followed it willingly,

and cursed myself later.

-

I was never there,

was never there,

was never there.

-

I was never there,

rooted within my despair,

thrown to a distance

by your unceasing coldness.

-

The ice that sets in Summer

as the park fills with its mayhem.

-

The mournful music plays

as I wave from behind windows

the last time for a long time

my slow walk home in the dark.

-

My bus is on time, now,

and my seat’s been saved.

I’ll next wake up

a thousand miles from both sides —

your warmth and your cold

both held at a distance.

-

An untold number

of fences between us,

and a multitude of people

you probably prefer.