Taboo

Your eyes are still a cliché, Indian Ocean blueslightly out of focus, whispering of the sea,seeing nothing.Did all the things I prophesize fall true?Back in December when our bones froze togetherand the trees outside the window snapped theirempty twigs.Now our gardens are a heaven’s halo::wisteria falls like mountain’s secrets,as you untangle.I see you walking your pinched faced daughterand still get woken by your woman’s tantrums,burrowing through me.When you’re there, the wall between us radiatesyour heat, but I think you never really caredfor me.My body went on stoppage when we split,as if the last ounce of love had left it deadand crumbling.I arranged my pain with copper colored youthswatched them dive into me again and againuntil it proved exhausting.Today, I saw you from the window, planteda kiss, refelt the heat , stroked the air forparticles of guilt;noticed nothing but the echo of your passing.