A Wrong Turn

Everything And Nothing

The rushing sound of nothing fills my ears,

as empty arms flail uselessly between

the memories of your body next to mine:

soft pale breasts pressed to my aching chest and

limb to limb, with sweat beaded on your brow.

There are choices in these miles and sometimes

we hide behind the shadow of our pains,

scared to have, in case what's good is taken

by the same chance turns that twisted us together.

And then it comes: the roaring sound of everything;

and eyes burn bright with fierce determined hope,

memories take form and banish far

the pointlessness of nothing.