affection

Our love lay in a casket with jewelled clasp,

which I grasp in both hands with a child's sense

of tense possession - never guessing the credibly

dreadful divisive power of ‘nice’ neighbours.

I weigh their words, despairing (frantic) - standing

at a blank wall, wondering where the road went -

bent double sifting buds from the crusted

dust under once ripening cherry trees.

Seizing up (a machine drained of oil)

my brain's heart recoils to the stomach pit,

stitching intermittent thoughts together -

bereft of meaning - merely playing for time.

Are all the dreams so hopefully I nursed

to disappear as in a bubble burst?