The central authorities announce
that time has gone into stasis;
innocent observers chalk it up
to another knock-on effect
of that same old misdirected love.

But when you put it that way,
when you cite Fear
and unwarranted exchange,
I’m suffered to remember
that there’s a cold stealing
across my sluggish bones
toward an obvious destination.

There’s good reason to worry,
just not the reason you think;
we’re cutting up the gander
and dangering the evidence;
we’re shortening the droop
and liquidizing the absence,
your absence
as it slides down my back
tepid and wet.

A modicum of hope sparks
from an imposed dilemma;
it leaves me without end,
far beyond the scope
of your attempted intervention.

by matt at shadow of iris

If you enjoyed this poem, you might also enjoy, reprobate mind, a poem.