lonely missing
why I lay curled on my side
my back to you, my face to the window
watching the slivers of snowflakes
caught on the sill before they’re torn away
and wondering, whether it is enough
to have the peace without the passion
why I stop the old syllables from spilling
over my lips, before historical terms of endearment
can sow seeds of destruction and doubt
to be nurtured by an ever growing stream
of silences, for which I give no reasoning
why I retreated into my attic to replay
the films of old, a white flag strung up inside
my skull, the flickering black and whites projected
before my inner eye, crackling speakers could hardly
convey the sounds I thought I remembered better
not done, not done, they say
the show must go on, despite the intermissions
and technical malfunctions
why it hasn’t come to a close
not even now