a waltz.

There’s romance in rhythm

this rhythm 

this waiting

this meter

this aching

this watching

this breaking.


There’s romance in action

in tossing

and turning

in putting on coffee


and burning

a hole in my heartstrings,

a permanent painting

there’s romance in solace

in quietly sating

myself for a second—

reality’s grating

all fish hooks and 

hoodwinks and otherwise baiting

your words against mine

for honor, grade pending

this battle between us,

with no chance of mending

the bridges we burned here,

to your heart I’m sending

a solemn goodbye


for there’s romance in ending.