TIPTOE

She kept the Christmas tree
Up well past march and it’s a
Strange thing,

Your voice
Broken and sad
And

The words, no one understood.
But the silence.

Oh, the

Silence.

And I hum in this
Empty house and

Your call

Echoes and
Echoes. The phone
Keeps ringing and I
Say. I say:

Sorry.

And you say:

Don’t. Just --
Don’t.

But here I am and
There. There you are.

Your face as delicate
As your tears today. And
I touch you as if

You’re a paper boat,
About to float away. And I

Tiptoe

Around your thoughts,
Afraid I’ll wake

You up.

My clothes smell like
You.

My skin
Smells like you. And

There is a dead tiger
In my bed. We’re

Caught between

An electrical storm
Exploding in the sky and

Silence.

I don't think I’ve
Ever loved you more.