So much depends on the way a mouth forms the words, a tone, a meaning conveyed only in feeling, carried on words as they are released into this air between us.
Your mouth and the words once so warm and familiar.
The way you spoke my name once, in such a way that it was a word private, intimate, familiar, now falls forth from your lips as just another word spoken (impersonal).
It came from those lips, once so tender, with rigid formality, such to show not ourselves but to communicate the point to those other hearers, “there is no intimate connection we two share.”
Here in the pale light and brisk air I strode by your side.
This chill takes hold. ..
Moments tick by...
Silence takes hold...
My mouth holds captive the words I long to say (much as the reason you impose holds you prisoner even now).
I dare not part these lips.
You see, I know if I let these words drip from this already down turned mouth the sorrow would also spill from my eyes.
Thus, just as this began so does it continue without explanation.
There is no explanation needed with the falling of the leaves there is no slowing this season from drawing to a close.
We continue this walk.
These narrow streets cannot hold the distance between us now.
You are increasing in speed now at such a pace that I cannot catch the hand that may still want to be held here. I could see its hesitation, much like that tenderness in your eyes before it too retreated.
I am aware that though I may give chase I may well never catch you..Though I practice this sprint you will draw further ahead.
I may but hang back under these yellow street lights though they hold no warmth, in quiet observation.
But please know my dear that I cannot remain here for always awaiting your return.
So much depends on the way a figure forms an action, a tone, a meaning only conveyed in a feeling carried by the feet of one who walks away and leaves traces hanging in the air and distance between us.
