If only I knew what I was doing

I wouldn’t miss you so much

or second guess the touch

I wish I could have back

because the lack of you

keeps the one half cold

and the other half feeling old

and in ruin.

If I could handle the new life

being built so damn quick

like a wall made of brick

and mortar mixed with jealousy

to hold it together

I think I could weather

this storm of black feathers

that cuts like a knife.

If there was a way it made sense

it wouldn’t have come to this

but it did and the fleeting wisp

of your scent on the sheets

beats me to the ground

and now I’m down,

done with love surrounded

by a barbed-wire fence.