you walk between eyelash fields.
trying to find a place to stick that pain that creeps behind your skull..
trying to fill your cheeks with mud.. so they will rest safe, pressuming you're only smiling.
and yes, sometimes i still picture us,
as if even time could be cropped and pasted..
she's there, cradling your nervous shoulders..
warming you like the love of the sun.
but time and space evade us..
and you have bitten the frost of the winter.
and you have been taken and repackaged, somewhere into a space that we avoid.
and now only the clouds play tribute to you.
there's a pink page that i keep in the back of my mind.
i let it bring me to my knuckles.
eclipsing tears, digging into these carpets of clay..
until i am somewhere drowning.
buried under the salt of rememberance.
i wish i could take your face between my gnarled fingers,
that i could paint you a brighter backdrop..
/close./
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