Cardboard Boxes

I spotted your form,
your smoky image
floating past me
while my wisps of hair
and tousled mane
lay flat against your pillow,
waiting for your return.

Your dance;
a whirlwind,
blowing across my hands,
slicing through words and never still.
Fingers, cramping up
and keeping me from
touching your skin,
numb under my weightless glare.

Never knowing right
from left
from wrong (and still)
I hear you as you scurry beneath me
trying to get loose from my clutches
as we love for the millionth time.
And I tell you how sweet you are
to love me back
when I feel so beneath you
(as I lay beneath you).

And I keep falling off that pedestal you built for me
(over and over again)
and now I am battered and bruised
and afraid to climb back up
for I am not sure I fit there anymore.
And I see your image fading from my sight
and I worry that
the millionth time
was the last time,
and I reach for your hand
and grasp at the whispers that escape your lips
and fail to hold the words inside my slippery fingers
and I pray that morning gets here quicker,
this time around.