“The last look through the window” (edit.)

“The last look through the window” 

The last look through the window is the hardest
as the thought heavies
like a stone dropping into an empty well,
screaming as it hits the bottom,
piercing echoes of deafening mute.

My hands long to touch your face
as a palm to the glass is always never enough.
To sink my nails into that reflection
which separates what I believe is true
and what is becoming the truth,
like seeing my face fading
and smelling the sky in a blurring,
to give you more than a fleeting kiss,
to say more than this is all too well.

But I will not touch you
nor even come close to you
(my hands all trembling
my breathing pausing),
not to pretend this is not happening,
not to give you another handprint that
will bastardize your face that is drying.

I want you to break that glass.
To replace that dead hallow inside your chest
with my fist
that will pound
the way your heart beat on your skin
much harder and much, much stronger
than how you gathered the claws
that singled your life into a single wound,
a mere cry to the world.

I want you to breathe again
to wake up
and slap the hell out of me
until the brushing of my wet eyelashes
on the back of my arm is nothing more
than a fresh butterfly drying its wings from its cocoon.
I want you to look straight at me
and shake the life in me
until I stop recalling
that they all die too soon.
That butterflies are never free.
I want you to wake up
and tell me that the rain
does not fall to mock us all,
to whisper that the heavens feel our loss,
to caress that the gods did their call.
I want you to break that glass
and scream the hell out of your abyss,
to crawl the hell out of your pit,
out of that deep shit
you holed us all in.

I want you to cry
This is not how I want to die.
Not bleeding on a cold concrete,
not alone on a side street.
I want you to get up
and tell me how to be there
to stop the blood from oozing out,
to stop the breaking out of sweat,
to lock up the gates of our hell
and to assure me it is not too late.

But I want you to have peace,
peace that will make the heavens cry
peace that will bury your mind.
I want you leave with
a lasting beat that it was not in vain,
to leave with the knowledge
that you are always with us in the rain
never leaving our side
always playing in our minds.
I want you to go.
I want you to go now.

This is not for you.
And I swear to you
this is not through.

I may have stared at your face longer than I should
but not to linger on the last image I will have of you.