time out.

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Time Out

The morning after
is always suicidal.
Sun slicing into clouds
and bleeding through blinds,
only to lose itself in the darkness
of a room they often share.

Her hands mimicking clocks,
rewinding the night backwards;
unfolding herself from leaded arms,
out of covers and into clothes,
skirt, then shirt, then shoes.
She moves
in silence;
so as not to disturb his slumber;
so as not to wake his words,
taint the moment with
awkward fumbles and his mumbled pleas.
(if she stays too long,
she'll never leave.)
A simple note that reads,
"Sorry I had to lgo
this early."

She keeps things
never more than temporary.
Like place-holders,
agreeing to the charades of
hand-holding and pet names,
late night phone calls and
rushed kisses.
His hushed wishes,
filling in the cracks
of her patched facade.

She's too strong to break open
(too weak to give in.)
Keeps him
climbing walls
with ladders too short
to reach her.
Modern-day Rapunzel,
hair tied into a noose
for the prince who dares to leash her.

She steps out into sunlight
as he stirs in the dark.
The morning after, always the same.
He thinks it's something like love;
she knows it's just a game.

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