the lights go out one by one.

do you remember what it was like
when we once had light?
trapped fragments of stars--
angry as wasps behind the glass--
we pulled the bulbs from
the frostbite earth from
in between the unborn tulips
waiting to stick out their tongues--
suspend yourself with me
in the filament of another
light bulb-- kiss ourselves into fire
at the flick of a switch--
it was the
lamp in the living room
that went out first-- a dark
blotch in the far left corner
of the room--
it reminded you of the night
in December--
there are few things more irrevocable--
we avoided it--
you said you would change the
bulb when you had the chance--
when the stars came back ripe
enough to steal--
so we forgot about the corner--
the magazines on the shelf
had never been anything more 
than distractions--
their pages now sucked
free of words--
that's what shadow does--
eats words
eats colors
eats faces
occasionally a guest would
get close to the smudge
so we'd warn them-- we'd tell
them
there are creases
of this home that have expanded into
darkness-- we've yet to have
time to fix them--
the hall light to the bedroom
went next 
so thus we gave up sleep
for the fear we would lose more light--
i said
let's buy light bulbs
but you stared at the 
shadow as if watching a wolf 
trot on the parameter of our
yard--
it's hard to watch someone you
love fall into love with an idea 
instead of you--
oh how i mourned you fire-lips--
you said to me 
we never welcomed enough shadows
into the house
it was time 
it was time
it was time
to stop closing the windows at night
i kept a lantern-- turned
myself into an island--
flashlight flesh cut
the darkness--
sliced fresh-- do you remember
my face?
i called out for our front
door
that had long submitted to the
shadow-- she too 
only a memory--
i savored the time i had left
with the lantern 
but like all stolen light
i too 
became part of the silence
of an open window--
is that your hands on mind 
or my hands on my own
your or 
your hands on your own
hands that i can feel through
the unraveling of our senses--
whoever you are
it's easier to touch you 
where it's dark--
we're blissfully
unaccountable-- and oh oh oh
there's still fire in you--
the light bulbs were too
prude to watch us.