Unclasp the watch to write this rhythm;
photos of another place and time ---
this reverie is both yours and mine.
Our interaction on the side-street knows,
that the cold of the winter-wind blows
your whispers past the tip of my nose,
as the sign flips from open to close;
and you stand under the shadow of your choosing,
and I crawl away a casualty of your musing.
victims of a fight where both are losing,
junk-sick from the drugs we're using.
Photos of another place and time ---
this life is both yours and mine.
Can't wash this feeling from my hand,
of being tucked away in a foreign land,
reduced to the occasional family pity- visit.
(Not our creation or is it?)
Splashes on the blank canvas,
old water in the empty vase;
footprints in the frozen grass,
tear-tracks down your tired face.
Inside the wooden crate wrapped in lace,
trinkets warn from use before,
we ignited a civil war.
You stand under the shadow of your choosing,
and I crawl away a casualty of your musing.
victims of a fight where both are losing,
junk-sick from the drugs we're using.
It was done before it was over,
fields of fire now filled with clover;
a reminder of peacefully counting sheep
under skies too beautiful to miss for sleep.
A memory for down-the-road to keep,
no battle could ever be had or won,
those days have past,
we've come undone.