the ache is starting to set in
distended drums moving from horizon
to hand, decaying like dust
while still

I hear the snicker of our shoes
the clock on the mantle
thick tick and latent lazy tock
finger bones melting on the frame
smearing the shape
draping the fire that was our life

what are we become
ashen and silent
since you let loose all anchors
drifting and distant

I can not set my sails
when the compass crumbles
I miss you. I miss you.

I miss you.