charcoal

one day

when it all

starts to crisp and crumble

when the moths turn to ashes in the rays of love

there will be no sorrow

for i will already have mourned

a thousand times.

any need i once had

for freedom of movement

has been swiftly replaced

by the loving touch

of wet cement.

failing to see you

i come to realize

that tethers and chains

are but sorely needed

pairs of spectacles.

i do not mind

that my arms are frozen,

they are already outstretched.