Love, and Nothing

windows move in squares of automatic dejection
curtains close and open; shatter and mend
invading stripped couches and his fatigued eyes
and when the brickwork casts a hostile silhouette
of the misery of their phases, his moon will eclipse

faces dissolve into one another, oblivious and serene
planning the annihilation of their seeping integrity –
soon, his hands will be bloodied with pale conquest
and the skin of his victims will become immortal
as patchwork across his arms, no longer a glassed human

smoke screen children would look on with inflated sighs
and dolls and cars will whirlpool in unison; in struggle
as murderers don masks and penetrate their tiny orifices
but all I see is my beautiful beloved removing his clothes
I watch as he drifts, he tells me to be still, to love

but I cannot move from searing fatigue, movement
is a delinquency, and I apologise and plead but he fades
away with my translucent affection. whenever an ending
dawned I would look away and plaster myself onto the wall
until the beginning, until it started over again, until, until.