Tired

[rowens]

My eyes had grown autumn
from staring too long into the brown leaves of your wearing
out. I said, Go ahead and die

or leave me if you have it in you;
I don't think you have enough left.
And you wouldn't.

So I spent the night waiting
while you took our time elsewhere,
my eyes were stung and smoky and when you came back,

through a trail of dry tears over the wet curve
of fumes and chemicals to find me,
again arched

in the position between you and myself,
you didn't smile, you couldn't sigh or whimper,
you didn't care.

Go ahead, you said, you're alive,
you're the one that can leave.
Love died a long time ago.


It would be something like that then. But I don't know if I can get away with it, it leaps over the problem.