The Slipping Partners

We never sleep alone

we always sleep squeazed between expectations and regrets

Holding onto the phone

confessing what I would prefer to forget,

(Yeah, I've got dirty hands... too.)

One word.

One syllable.

Rhymes with glove.

And it isn't love...

On the inside, you scam,

and find the wolf inside the lamb

story's been told, the light unfolds

your see-though glass eyes

and

my beautiful demise

aligned

for

One word.

One syllable.

Rhymes with glove.

And it isn't love...

In and out a few times, and it's over.

But hand in glove,

Dry skies above,

Will we make it through the desert?

From an empty park bench

days after, without a single ring

I watch in quiet contemplation

the parade of a sole mourning dove

I guess, we've really been slipping together all along