Elegy for the Unsalvageable

I love night,
the way its talons
tickle me with the cold;
an echo of you:
something like love runs down my thighs
and joins a puddle on the floor,
glistening sardonically. 

I step in delusion every morning, 
leaving unconscious trails of reverie
wherever I go.
Drawing their shapes,
my hallucinations on dull, blank walls.

I cannot help myself—
it is how I learned to cushion the continuous fall,
the plight of expectation;
it is how I’ve managed to stay awake
since you forbade me from loving you.

But always,
wedged neatly between my shoulders,
the blade of you.
Bleeding only on special occasions:
across cityscapes,
draining the blue from an innocent night…

I polish the wound with my good memory.
I make sure it stays clear
and deep. 

A eulogy—
it’s the least I can do:
plant my knees in the soil of desire,
stale, but like I don’t notice,
I keep chafing my hands in prayer
before this impression of you.