NEVER REALLY OUR BAR

Our bar and yet tonight
We are strangers.
The hour draws to a close.
We draw far, far apart
And the silence dances the distance
Between my breath and yours
Mocking the low buzz of possibility
That fragments of conversation around us
Offer up, along with salted peanuts
And greasy chips.

Your eyes plunge into your drink,
Emerge drenched
And pour themselves into mine.
The way they used to.
But this time is different.
You speak and your words
Twist the emptiness between us
Into knots that wrench me closer.
You say you love me and wait.
The way you used to.
My silence swallows your soul.

Your words carve themselves
Into the numb planes of my face.
You love me and I can’t breathe
I hurt but you will bleed.

Whittling deftly, slowly then faster;
Your words hack their way
Past wooden smile and staring eyes
To fester in my chest
Trapped in my ribcage,
Imprisoning me.

I am not clay for the sculptor,
Warm to your touch,
Moist to your fingers,
Malleable, tender, yours.
Stronger from the oven ordeal.
How blind can you be?
I am wood, and right now
Pieces of me lie on the floor.

Why couldn’t you bring me to life?
Instead, you take my hand across the table
To sweep my words onto the floor.
The way you used to.
Just as you sealed my lips
With kisses, and buried my words
In the silence of your bed
Until our silence lulled me to sleep.

And now someone else's whispering breath,
Racing through my veins,
Nudges me awake, and
Springs to life inside me.
And you say you love me and you wait
While pieces of me lie on the floor.

Cut your feet
While you wait for my voice,
Cut your feet on your way to the door.
I will hurt more than you can possibly bleed.

And in case you were wondering,
It was never really our bar.
I couldn’t stand the music, but hey,
At least it drowned out the silence.