shadows of ourselves.

there was meant to be a moment when

you looked back at the wreckage and the

motion of our lives slowed to a crawl, and paused

a carnal beast could be seen climbing, a steady

silhouette from beneath the still life you drew,

with its frozen cast of characters in waiting

you the protagonist, you lying next to the

emotional in our bed, you walking across the floor

to our living room, you writing our story

and you wished to leave the newly

constructed frames, succumbing to whispers

of cruelty and odium, imagined from the depths

there will be regret, but it should not be ours

when time is released from the grasp of

bruised hearts, your character will always turn away

© 4.5.2017 heather brager