Howling Woolf

Twisting skylight,

Burn my pupils

That are student to this sight.

Let air in

That I might exhale, slowly.

Through lips that trap tears,

Pursing themselves

To stitch hallowed tension

Within anxiety.

You, sleep.

And I miss

The way you used to snore.

Paler still,

With firey hair,

Vibrant against your ears

And blue eyes,

That no longer mimic

Windows to gaze through,

Nor oceans to swim in,

Nor skies that watch me soar.

Let them dance as they used to.

Smile as you once did.

Flicker as only you could.

So that while I hold your hand,

Your tendons creak a melody,

And drown the consolations

Of unanswerable truths.

Twisting skylight,

Twist no more

Beckon Nothing

and desist.

Time's gauntlet

Thrown, to become

A final bed for expectation.

I am letting go

Of your hand,

But I cannot

Watch you leave.