At a (point of) loss

Awakened, when I slept,
last refuge of those dead
from the ones alive to their cleansing.

So, again you, wake-full,
not sleeping,
haunt my cold soul this night.

The mean clicks later,
 taunt in a wall of division
signify, apparently, channeling.

The things that you told me,
the tears you shed,
haunt me, with your multitude signifiers.

The softness and warmth
of your lips that kiss,
belie as nought, all of my loving.

But more, you channel me out and tune-fully warm to disembodies
who break you, into a type of song.

You cannot take yourself to a point
beyond all caring with my rhythm.
Thus far, but no further.

I am broken that you cannot flow
with me there, yet even now I am,
warm, to your cold.

Lover, as was, how you split me;
off I go, dead eyed
to feign a daily living.

Remembrance, what have you now?
I hold too much;
you, unquantified, as yet, but it's  there.

Spring flowers creap slowly upon
the lovely grave I dug in,
wth my lovers body

Now, finally, the silent unsaid hope, against all hope;
the smell of spring connects.

I am and was true,
at least, in my attempts to woo.
But my bones grow cold to daily, nightly  choices.

You should awake finally,
another way too.
 Too much, always you right, me wrong. 

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