We are not alone. Sorrow lifts us, carries us home with vapid regret. Gone the winds autonomy, gone all our sisters every one to this, unloving empty blue.
You are not the stars in your eyes, you are not the world we find you in, your street corner, your thin ambivalence towards those things to come, namely death, your own, wrapped like I am in your arms. Hold onto it.
You do not choose what you are given, what you give. I will not become you in the end, sad smiles, our same bed a wreck of weeks, strife, benevolent whispered open loving, my sad song, your wide smile and everything, everything wide awake and gleaming.
We are not forgiven. How could we be undressed for foul weather, naked from the fear of it. No, we are not forgiven, we would not know what to do with it.
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