(Published in the OCT. issue of The Oak Magazine)
It is like being alone...
despite her constant presence--
the unraveling mind, shriveling heart,
the uncontested compression of thought
when the eyes resemble frosted glass
upon which longings etch random shapes,
lucidity fading like worn denim.
In front of a sun-mottled window
she eats a Hershey bar, the chocolate
melting on her tongue the way memories
melt away in her synapses.
I reach out to stroke her hair,
yet even this close,
it is like being alone.