Weighted, Waiting

She’s always

gone upon arrival,

she stays cold in the

Summer’s sun,

and there’s no fun in following

from place to place

whatever warmth is hiding

within the puzzle of her face.

She’s not here when she’s here,

softly snoring in the bed

with her head

elsewhere,

exploring other presents,

pasts and futures,

other presences,

longing for escape

from the efforts I expended,

either not enough

or just the wrong puzzle piece,

where what used to be an aspiration

now feels like a chore,

and once again I am a child

wanting to play

instead of tidying up.

She’ll leave in the morning,

white light violently pushing through the door,

then the dark again, save for a

green light blinking just there across the waters,

and the red lights flashing,

aggressive

in the silent pockets of the worst of my dreams.

I wait for her all day,

and all night,

and all day,

and all night,

a lost dog, waiting,

for something never arriving.

This Summer is so cold

and this Winter was so warm,

I fall asleep underground

and wake up

somewhere in the sky,

looking down and still waiting,

waiting,

waiting,

waiting,

waiting,

waiting,

waiting,

the weight upon me blossoming,

breeding and festering,

my chest tested by the pressure,

a sensation like drowning,

this indifference feels different

arms flailing in the dark,

waiting, still,

waiting, waiting, waiting,

turning heavy in the water,

sodden,

whirled around by the straw she twirls

turned sensitive

and mournful,

waiting, for what?

It is so hard to remember

but you still are not here

and I know that, once, you were.

I’m running out of space for these mistakes,

my missteps multiplying, frying

what is left of the spark,

a lack of oxygen,

the water is so hungry,

my urgency depletes

the spark goes out

and some ghost devours

what is left of the candlelight,

the green light is extinguished,

something beautiful is dying,

intimacy eradicated,

dedication faltered,

tripping up and tumbling

down.

I stay glued to the sky,

watching on and helpless,

my own guardian angel

looking on with tied hands

smirking, knowing

I deserved this all along.

One side of the bed is empty,

and water trickles in

through the gap

beneath the door.

I watch on, waiting,

I watch on, waiting,

I watch on, waiting,

and nothing ever changes.