No Mountaineer

Talking with you,
lately, feels like an
uphill battle, one I’m
wearing the wrong
shoes for.

I can no more reach
you than I could
scale Everest with a
can of silly string and
a mildly inflated ego.

Perhaps I was let in
on accident? You
forgot to lock your
doors, so I could creep
in unannounced for
awhile.

It lasted most of
the summer but not
in to the chilled air of
fall, which makes me
think of you as a
sweater, all cozy and
woolen.

Wish we could speak
easy like we used to,
when poetry filled our
lungs with wine and
sweet mystery——

The question mark of
us discovering the riddle
that was each other.

But, I am no longer
brightly shining or newly
pressed, so your interest
goes south to distant
shores, untouched
and wanting.

I swear,
waiting for you,
lately, feels like an
avalanche of bitter
emotion I cannot
escape from,
collapses on my
head.

I  become buried,
wanting our past to
have meant something
profound, twinkling and
precious, not to be
this throwaway junkyard
wreck.

Yet, talking with you
isn’t something I can do
now, since you won’t
smooth out your ridges
or loosen your
heartstrings for me.

As it is, I am
wearing the wrong
shoes and am falling
backwards towards
the moment you
forget I exist——

Until the slack in
my rope breaks,
and I succumb to
being just another
casualty.

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