The Edge

Your memory, a cliff I dangle from, jet black flash.  

Your voice, pale beauty, a blown out match. 

“Look,” you’d say, 

“I just want to talk to you.” 

                   Dragging all the benevolence in the room to a breathless halt. 

Someone got the wind knocked out of them, 

but who’s to say who? 

-------What an ending---------

It’s a picture of a picture, found lazy with dust in a garage that was not my own. 

 

An arm enervating out the passenger window, the sunset of an empty highway. 

The last song of your favorite album, played raw in my presence. 

We didn’t make it there. 

The way we didn’t go swimming. 

The pool black with neglect. 

       We’d just sit on the edge and dream. 

Just like the way we never found a way to say,

 “I’m sorry, there's no more waiting for me.”

The way I never learned to play chess and you never learned to play guitar.

We're safe here,  

  to just sit at the edge and dream from afar. 

((How does something feel like nothing for so long, 

Then,

      The blind tongue tie of everything. ))