In the throes of my pain, I cling to shadows of the sane from where I see you standing just over there. You are so close I smell your aftershave and your skin playacts a cave to nestle mine for a memorized tinder shine. I will not cry...just heave a tired sigh...until you go away once more and I lose myself in the cut of the heart that stays a deepened shard to stab at will. And where I wait so still, on my ever tender blistering sore.
