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




David Trudel   ©  2013



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