The Strange Days of My Affection

my arms ache
and this softness inside of me
for you
is bringing down the city around me
but we are not in love

you tell me

we are not in love

your fingerprints are still in my pillowcases
but I have no distance on me
no time in your departure
and you can see my despairing eyes
can feel the slippery twists in my mind
can taste when the air shimmers around me

you have found me out for what I am
buried under this nest of warm quilts
singing my grandmother's song
and longing for the swaying pines of my home
my mother's lopsided smile
calling me to the kitchen

but you have never seen where I came from
know only a passing story
you wonder what made me this way
and have seen no history beyond my collapsing walls
beyond this city's dilution of my flesh
have not seen me running through dusty fields
where my love was born
and my figure slowly shaped in the hands of a Northern maiden
with cloudless skies dipping the sun behind the hills

in this bedroom
in this city
with its dampened airs
and greying towers
you have found me
my hair spread over the bed
and my skin relenting to your touch
my heart affected by your clear eyes
your words slowly dancing in my ear
in these strange days of my affection
I ache
and I do not come up for air
the skies split
and sing their darkened wet song
to my swaying hands
in this mingling too full of your sweetened voice

but we are not in love

your hand is not in mine
and when I wake to the blackened night
whispering my name through the window pane
and I shiver to the thought
of cedar trees
calling me to the shore
I am alone

and I am not in love