Here tucks in fast,
The speed of fear, when we muddle each other with our own bad habits.
And cradle the terror of loss worming its way into our bellies and leaving us retching incontinent words.
These hands holding mine are stone cold. The near death of 'us' squeezes them tight.
Anguish picks at the scabs in the corners of our nails,
While we lose each other in the night,
Down an exhausted phone piece, courtesy of Telecom.
You let me run scared, and I dive headlong
Into a corner with my own insecurities.
I think you are too clever.
My mind skips and plays,
But I remember love was never a game.

We confuse each other with endless vocal circles,
Pronouncing this or that complaint;
we are seasick with the balance shift.
I lie on my back, yellow dog surrender,
While you preen.
I climb high and aim low.
I am ashamed. I am proud.
I am preserving and killing.
Giving up and not backing down.
We gun each other's hearts to the ground
And then battle-weary and afraid, we search the dirty floor for bandage and elastoplast.

You try to mend me with words,
Growing loud and soft,
You ebb into me like winter sun
And I try and hurry you into the promise of new days.

We fear the silence of goodbye
And your voice is slow melting ice.
Without you I think I am nothing.
I turn my wedding ring this way and that.

The half dead of Night.

(November 2006)