April Fox

and it’s in these smallest hours
that sorrow creeps in
robs the thing they call a soul
of everything that kept you
held together through the day and leaves you
black and charred and boneless,
heartless breathless
(though not the way you think of them-
cruel, exhilarating-
but literally
without blood or air
to sustain you)
muscles slack and brain a mass of nothing
but inconsequential thought that no one wants to hear
and in the dark you hear the breath of someone else
across the vast expanse of
everything.

(once, i said
i was careful, captured
in between his fingers–
fluid, now
we dangle by his side
and soak the floor.)