There's a darkness around him,
that comes about
on certain days
of tango like movements,
sharp as a winter frost bite
on her lips
which have long ago forgotten
how to kiss.

In her gesture weaknesses
abound, meshing together
as rice grains,
grinding the last drop of power
required to further stretch,
further throw and pull on
the blanket of dreams
made for him,
his one protective mantle
against life's final attempt
to push him far enough
from her,
to lift him straight off the edge
and into the abyss
of It must be so.