There is no reliable marker to calculate the half-life of your affection
Which dissipates like a soft breath in a hurricane
There is no way to measure the forever of never
Or to calibrate calipers that demonstrate the depth of nothing
There is no form for the formless
There is no more normal in this bedlam
Where words wound deeper than paper cuts
And bleed your love like ancient surgeons opening veins
Until it stops
Until it stops
Leaving you chalkwhite
A blank page calling for a scribble
By a reliable marker
Indelible
David Trudel © 2013
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