I could wear the colors of war
like an open collared
shirt;
[ exposed ]
the glint of a heart on a string,
dangling between pale breasts --

where you used to rest your head,
where you came to remember
the rhythm of                        us.

Drops of blood still seep from the
places where love did not heal
like little red pearls,
this is my solace.


                                   "This", she said, brandishing a sword of tattered hearts. "is my battlefield."


No universal solvent to remove these fingerprint bruises
black and blue, like your voice,
but they [ remain here ]
           after I've scattered the ashes;
markings of the time you rifled through my love,
thumbing the ancient pages,
tearing and folding down the edges
like some
book on display.

You will never comprehend just how far you've fallen,
how much it hurt me to watch
but I am a slave to Karma,
she comes to call and whispers in my ear
as she leaves me crumpled against the
              plain glass door
of a time when I'll stop crying
and you'll begin.

                       
                                   It is today that I watch the sun burn through the atmosphere;


                                   It is today that I can feel the twitch of almost-healed wings again;


                                   It is today that blood has begun to pump into all the grey places;


                                            It is today that I write the last line to this story of ours.