cracked hands

oh this listless merriment

wrenched from our hungry mouths,

how it reeks of

angry bile.

what else can i do

to hum the goodbye to you?

my tounge is dead inside my head,

it moves not when i try to say

dont leave;

come back to me.

the snow comes down in frothy spats--

i'm trying to sleep, can't you see, damn you?

the mix of exhaust and

spinning wheels

makes it look like crushed oreos.

what makes it good?

what makes me

sleep?

your silence is a violence

never seen by man;

come back to me.

don't ever leave.

the red of my soles

stains the virgin ice;

where did you go?

the hair is

falling out in droves;

don't leave me.

i remember how dry

your hands were,

your cuticles like sandpaper,

your knuckles like dust;

what move are you making next?