Flicker. Candles of rose petals, the matchstick table;
I was torn between two promises I made to you.
And while I pondered the procession of your voice,
clear and softened by warm light against my skin,
in the doorway stood the shape of our words.
Broad shoulders, anxious energy, at its feet
a rainwater basin to catch its kin from our lips;
and it towered over me,
the shadow stretched out in a burnt flesh nightmare
looming over our fresh spring dawn.
I was torn between two promises I made to you,
and, unsure, I swallowed all the light too,
hoping it would illuminate a path inside.
Instead, I found rusted screws,
snow etched in the grooves.
When I opened my eyes,
ashes were falling from the ceiling,
candles were unlit and whole,
the doorway empty.
I turned to speak to you
but there were no words,