over another loop
a balance between womb or doom
across woven, complex, delicate lines
within the infinite tapestry of time
as mannequins shadow candlelight
stumbling over scattered bones
ghosted on the river of wrong
& wasted last chances gone.
So too, was the last book collected
chess pieces sorted
divided items selected
boxing airless dream bubbles
with no more mind games to play.
For every part of this precious tragedy
they played their parts with tortured hearts
beginning the end of their pawn shop shuffle of separation
… all while the scratched record played the permanence of all the things
their love never got to say.