The Ever-Arriving Wind (Poem)

From jeweled eyes to deadpan voice,
I feel the chill approaching
As a wounded vessel, primed for surgery,
Loosens and thinks of lighter things.

Forgive these ill-spent years
Drowning in the stale thought of you,
Painting you in clothes you've long-since outgrown,
My tomorrow written in grimacing flesh.

This wind will carry me and you
In opposite directions in this endless sky,
As the color shifts from pink to dark blue
Barely distinguishable from black.

-D.