Traced

You've got blood in your mouth-the kind that traces teeth 

I cannot fathom the outcome of someone crying dry the importance of unopened letters.

You leave them in the box entitled "You're Loss" 

And capitulate to the silence of sleep-

you do not anymore

and I wait. 

You're the dark corner of the road that is ill-timed by the flashing lights of the auto

motor, beating, breaking, feeling, black. 

You are the soft skin of a pelted punch to my pitted core

an illicit pump of spark out my nose and into the air of ice.

What has happened with you?

Why don't you believe in the things that I do-

anymore.

You have sunken and seethed with the beads from the pine tree outside your window

that break and bend in pure lightness.

Where have I been when my feet break their vessels and bleed

they bleed a point of red on the soul of each arched line.

I wonder because I want with the intensity of how it was. 

I thought it was, I hoped for it, tried to make do with the crass fabric of pinched seams

What is it that we've lost

You bleed, I bleed, we all go out and drown.