You were Aurora-Borealis right,

and brighter than the northern lights;

nothing

else in this world, 

came close to the beauty you possessed. 

Whether you

were fully dressed, or naked as they come,

every

single bead of sweat that found itself upon your neck,

was more

beautiful than the rest; 

nothing else was similar. 

Even your

breath was musical, 

you wrote hit songs when you exhaled;

I could

watch you all day long, 

studying your every move.

The way your

chest rose and fell was reminiscent of the ocean’s tide,

it ebbed

and flowed pulling me deeper inside our love.

Hands

softer than the whitest sands, 

no feet have ever known such magnificence.

Those eyes

that evoke such desperation within me,

mahogany

brown and more profound than philosophy;

with each

blink, I am transfixed, 

left guessing which emotion they will express

next.

Despite all this, these

weathered hands will not stop wringing, 

from the grief, so heavy that it collapses my lungs.

From my

head down to my toes, I am numb, 

arsenic is

all I can taste on my tongue.

My throat is

caked with regret, 

so sore but

I cannot find the strength to hydrate it and get it wet.

The ringing

in my ears won’t cease, as shrill

as the eerie silence of an abandoned underground garage,

it pierces

my ears with such violence I wish I was deaf. 

The tension

between us is thicker than the fog in China, 

and it is

just as polluted by our unvoiced suspicions. 

You entered

my life with as much as intensity as a fighter jet 

that has

just broken the sound barrier.

Yet my

failure to eject you leaves me feeling inept.

Swept under

the rug, like fur or dust, or ashes from your cigarettes.

Winded as though I’ve run a decathlon yet determined to take my next steps,

this haggard heart of mine goes round in circles, unsure of whether to turn right or left.