Parse Que Tu Es Revenu

He slams the door and walks out

As anguish grips me and I writhe in pain,

Until I hear his footsteps retreating

And I suddenly paralyze; thinking if I want this again,

When I feel his familiar lips on my forehead

And his kisses cajoling me to bed

I bury my head in his shoulders as he takes me in his arms

My heart still ice cold but his heat imparting me warmth;

He looks me in the eye; asking me to forget all that we've done to each other

My lips part in protest of our happy memories but then all the aches gather

So I relent as he smiles at me

And kisses me again, this time passionately

And I very well recognize the road we're about to take

Is it gonna be real this time? Or just as fake?

He traces lines along my being; no longer distant

I shiver at his touch; a part of me still hesitant.

As his passion engulfs him to his madness

Uninvited thoughts suddenly cloud over my own mess

How many times do we need to touch each other to know that the love still exists?

I try to push the darkness away, but somehow it persists

But he'll never give up on me; and we both know this is not just another fling,

I do not know at the moment if it's his shirt or to him that I cling;

I lay in a daze, unable to respond

Does he not sense it? Or does he sense it all that I'm trying to abscond?

My screams now sound devoid of all lust

And I suddenly feel as if he's looking at me in disgust,

We reach the crescendo and I shut my eyes

As if the very next moment would be goodbye;

He kisses my eyelids open but I can sense his fit;

And there he goes, asking me if I was faking it,

My tongue stutters and my lips shake, as my own epiphany hits,

"No, honey. I was making it."

He doesn't look at me this time,

Somewhere far away,a clock chimes.

I hear the door slam shut again,

And this time, I don't even recognize the pain.

I lay unaware of the hour,

Thinking whether there even exists an 'our'.

I walk gingerly towards the shower,

Pleading the cold water to lend me some strange power,

No, I just can't go on,

So that's when I turn the radio on,

And the reporter mentions his name,

His accident, his blood, his death.

I shudder, and whimper, and groan,

I can hear the distant wail of the telephone,

On the floor I lie, but I can't shout, and no tears come out,

And I wonder why.