in my two shaking hands lie the remnants of words,
lies given sweetly, with promise of love,
they flutter and flap, as broken things do,
and beat a sad rhythm, like the heart of a dove.
torn and forlorn, through my fingers they slip,
and fall to the floor with a silky-slick sound,
a wound bright and scarlet, yet soft to the touch,
to lie still and silent on the unbroken ground.
kneeling, I move to gather them back,
perhaps with care they will someday regrow,
only to watch them fade in midair,
the answer, it seems, an unchanging “no”.
Silent, I kneel, as the floor shakes and bleeds,
staring at hands becoming less real,
no wind shakes my hair, nor block change my pose,
the pain of a fading heart all that I feel.