Moratorium

Echoes of us ripple through time like stones skipped, slicing icy surfaces of winter waters, thawing. Fumes fog mirrors of lost conversations confusing things I’m certain you said - all you’d deny that I did - breath steaming our rose-tinted glasses, wilting. Hearts beat against an electric current, leaping upstream with spectral salmon desperate to escape inevitables, flee set in stone choices. Those words we both carved. Knife upon bark. Once entwined like ivy, our fingers leave roadmaps in red pricks of thorns, to one day find a way back to this house of the dead. A crypt for romance placed under matrimonial moratorium. In memoriam. (16.2.21)