After you

I would reach up and drag her down
from a lackadaisical sky,
and bury her deep in the cold black earth,
for she wrenches me from the solace of sleep,
where the pain recedes to a sweet gentle ache
and I am with you again.

The seconds stretch into minutes and the minutes into hours,
I kill each innocent newborn moment,
I would kill time forever, for time heals, yes?
and healing would bring only numbness,
as if you had never been.

I caress the wound, curl around it,
the flinty edges bite, seducing me with an end to this;
I rush toward that place,
where there is no sun or time or any such inconsequential thing,
where there is nothing, not even you.