The Two of Us
The two of us
are lying alone
together in the
frost of a new year

that is, before
daylight broke
us apart from
the night when
we froze together
like something
unnatural, and slept
in the groves our
bones made in
the pavement,

and each car that
slide past stopped
to stare at the mausoleum
we had made of
each other, gawk like
hungry tourists
as the spectacle of
the separation that
was taking over us,
as we slowly grew
apart as the earth moves
away from itself, a progression
of flight, though we had
become rooted, and the
breakage was fierce -

you slapping at the empty
space with your fists
to find me, and I stretched
each fingertip at length
to get back,

though eventually
I rotted away like dust, whirling
away like too much past, falling
away into crumbled nothings
of everyone else's expressionalisms
of who we had been to each other.