There was no lie between us when I pressed the words into your lips and down to the tension of your knees.

What falsities can be passed from a mass so appallingly ignorant?

No matter the truth, there was strength in your stance.

There was purpose.

At one point I was compelled to hold your ghost and move in an impossible breadth of space.

Dreams reflected and I felt accomplishment at your presence.

Something sweeter than previous assumption.

I felt bliss.

In our bed we played with secrets in the dark to keep you in time and save my blessings from sleep.

Now that bed is cracked with rot and scattered through the hall.

Decay ran sour and I begged for a space to pull it through.

Thick with waste.

Now I play folly at the sky and scrape fragments into the cracks of my hands, trying to find purpose in this long gone sport.

Real or not it dies in cycles when I squeeze into tepid waters every morning.

Now it is a frail horror, breaking vitreous limbs as it shambles through pale channels of a soft tissue. Lost covalence was the cause sometime ago but at this point screaming is all that one can do in the face of such daunting potential for substance.

The last time we touched I had to glue my teeth back together and remember protocol for the occasion.

The list time we touched you just stood there.

Seething with idolatry.