Wrote this a few days ago
I look to you still though an effort of will
Will allow my mind to turn away
But to sort out the mind without thoughts of a kind...
You were such a resource for me and all my reasons to want your conversation are selfish. And while selfish things should be heeded when needed, our interaction was ever poorly suited to thoughts of myself.
They became desperate.
The tears, squeezed out in a lengthening whine, drained my eloquence.
I think it's your move, and will have to be until you make it
Until age silvers our eyes in clouds
Until my hand shakes too much to lift
Until your breath breaks its promise
And the chess piece forever keeps its place
And all these words and thoughts of mine
The love of strange and stunted beauty
Remain my own though facing you
What a preservation then in portait
Of our imperfect piece
A world of crumbs and crumbles
Captured in frieze