Heart Garden
It's becoming obvious we're half soulmates.
Silence is increasing, and it's an uncomfortable silence.
Irritability is also on the incline.
(grade 60 sandpaper against the skin)
Those delicate gestures are on the steep decline.
(a runaway semi).
Not to offend each other, we've suppressed what's felt or not.
The easily offended zone is becoming wider.
We've become each other's short chain.
Silos filled with scurry void of golden life-giving things
The children are gone; this house is made of bones.
What we have is a slowly rotting heart garden.
Where no rose would ever dare to go.
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