Something Took Our Places

You’re there now, near Canada. 

And I think it must be cold, too. 

I think the weather made you cold and hard, 

And it emptied you, and

Now you’re hollow and indifferent and 

Always smoking something.

You write for somebody, but you show me first. 

You’ve lost your colors. 

You still string words together and it’s art, 

But you’re bleeding on everything, and 

You’re awful at disguises. 

I see you still, as lovely as before.

Your teeth are still crooked, but 

You’re thinner than I am, now. 

You walk so many miles, and 

The souls of your feet melted off weeks ago. 

I remember seeing your eyes first. 

When I opened mine that morning. 

When we slept naked in your bed, and 

You were sick, then too. 

But there’s medicine for that. 

There’s medicine for everything, now.