Un.

there is a twist and ache smile
there as our eyes meet somewhere in Bermuda
no Jordan
no Stroud
and a heft of the weight of parting.
her lips want to mock the words in mind, the path traveled
and the agony of their downturn follows me
down the stairs not to nowhere
but to math class.
my metal hearts go cold
one against my collarbone
the other behind and under
and she is there, where theory meets practice
and electives mean nothing
to sincerity
to lifestyle
to ever after
she rides the tide of their imaginations
and there are no illusions under the seascape
as the moon pulls me inexorably toward madness
and waning
toxicity flows through the veins of all the sea creatures
urchins spiny and purple
like the roof of her mouth in nightmares
they are dreams crafted under the wary supervision
of my consciousness which is opposed to them.
they are nightmares because they make only
one of my hearts more still
stolen steel, sterling silver
Sterling told me.
Sterling told me she is there,
where our eyes meet, even in Bermuda
and Jordan
and Stroud.
he told me, the best man of them,
and I didn’t listen.