A Newcomer to the Freemasonry of Melancholia

occasionally
I rewind
Every breath we drank in together.
And rehearse
A mitred future
tense.
It’s all empty air,
without your terse
lacklustere reply,
I read inside every pause
Atrophying
Like the twist of black cat
paw prints on
Silver hoarfrost
Fragile, indelible

How I wish you
would have a
Tiny silver bell at your throat
Beckoning
to dissolute prey

Run
Run (to me)
Watch out (for me)
Take heed (I wound)
Be wary (I starve)

The bell rings
Time echoed
In perfect past Only
Occasionally
are we,
will we
In the imperfect future.

.
.
.
.

…title from Jonathan Strange

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