Her face was heavy as a thundercloud.
Her words fell stiff upon the ground as clay.
Then, finally, she cried this sound aloud:
“I lost myself somewhere along the way”.
I looked her squarely in her muffled eyes
while hoping hard her windowed soul would show;
some gurglings from her throat apologise:
“I’m sorry but you gave me vertigo”.
It’s true I only live upon the height
where air is thin and ice can crystly form.
You were my moon and I your satellite
[you know so well we kept each other warm].
But now our paths have veered into a mist
and only by your absence am I kissed.
© 2012, Alan Morrison