in love and war

closed.
i feel you move. i have found the proof
in the brush of your hand on mine,
as voices pull me away,
as i am tossed back and forth
in an ocean of gray-tinted silence.
you tangle your legs in the sheet
and i cry out to all who will hear:
this is no trick of the wind.
maybe your body will never warm mine again
but i will breathe on our crossed fingers
to bring them back to life.

opened.
my senses are dulled, stretched,
until i no longer hear or feel or smell or taste.
the absence of sense reigns.
but i only need this, these clouded eyes,
and the delirium that will tell them what to see.
i do not need to hear the morning songs of birds,
or feel the silk slide of bedsheets,
or smell the summer seeping through windows,
or taste a kiss for every second wasted. i can see it all,
and Themis, in all Her jealousy, cannot take this from me
for She has abandoned us here.

i am not yet, and then i am all at once.
i am born from the ash, and i am already dead.
i think perhaps it is best not to know.

1;2