Tuesday, March 03, 2015

And Things


Love, and things that look like love;
Things that could pass for love if seen from a distance;
The feelings that one would call love on a warm day, but mere obsession in the winter;
Love, and other, almost indistinguishable sensations, the flutter of a heart that does not know its way.
Love, love that might have been or might yet be; things that one man would call love but another might be dubious about.
Love and things that masquerade as love.
And things that might be love in another life,
and things,
and things,
and things.

Ice on the bridge

There was ice on the bridge,
and I the kind of boy to drink another man's pint when he left it in my care,
and you the kind of girl to take another woman's accomplishments as her own.

There was ice on the bridge,
and two lovers who'd forgotten who they were and wouldn't be mourned by anyone.
Least of all each other.
Least of all themselves.

There was ice on the bridge,
and a long drop,
and the cold blue river flowing to the end of the earth.