your dustmites and ripped frocks
haunt me still
despite the chill of a new winter
and the harsh winters passed
I follow a part of your hope
in my dreamscape
and sweep up the hailstones
that left dents in my car.

It's too late for that old story to end anew
it's too late to expect old bridges
to be maintained after the fire
when roasted toes ran quickly
when embers never let up
built heat slowly til the air
choked you,
left your lungs broken and your vocal chords
sore

i am not a perfect human nor is ours a perfect story
ripped to shreds with ego and pain
controlling love and love for disdain
I always try to scream love when it rains
but mostly it sounds like drowning.