Waves of heat
hit me like syllables
clipping in drama
and sadness.
We sit waiting
for something to change
the unwavering stench that is loss.
We will never be as close
as we want to be
nor as far apart.
click-click, hum-hum
the metered sounds of fantasy
we don’t know what we want
or where we want it
I love you – in a morbid
kind of way.
Like as though, or as if,
we have to be out of place
to be alive.
Like an apple in the middle of summer
a little too soon
or maybe far, far too late.
You start the engine without looking at me
and I get out.