nineteen days

canals
run down
my weathered cheek
to divert
the salted essence
of dream
as it evaporates
from unseeing eyes.

it would feel
less like drowning
if the world
weren’t murky
if my skin
weren’t wet
if the racking sobs
would stop
forcing air
into deflated lungs.

but what else is there

hope
that one day
the scab falls off
fresh pink flesh
shows
where a crater
of bared nerve endings
were exposed
to the elements
my synapses
played
like a dirge
for one.

it is
impossible
to recall
what is real
as the agony
radiates
irradiates on a loop.

but a decade
of heaving sorrow
is still worth
nineteen days
in her arms.

so i accept
the drowning
for having been
alone
for so very long
makes
the bittersweet embers
of what was
impossible
to deny.

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