You were just cold

          hands and a foreign

          scarf, a crystalline

          elegy to yourself



                    -- brutal and brittle

                    and bruised and serene --



          finding a truth you liked

          in nameless ennui

          and apt-black mirrors.



          I was just a temperate

          screen, a kite

          before uncertain systems



          I sought defeat in

          your lacerating smiles

          that stole me from

          myself, so gladly,

          into your thrall.



          Foolishness makes lovers of us all.



                -- as physical forces
        
                we came together --



          We were one silhouette,

          one syllable,

          one mark, but we

          drove two lines. From

          our cross-purposed furrow

          you cast another

          weightless regret

          and as I fell I

          found them,

                        these grim systems

                             ribbonned in crystalline shards.



               -- our forces now

               a magnetic aversion --



          We are no allegory or parable.

          I still bear your ribbons.

          But I do not wear your veil.