The Come Down

Shivering on long walks
Is forcing warm thoughts,
Swallowing stone chrysalises
In gulps that gridlocked
Pulsing my throat,
Deep and tangible,
On every beat.
Every steaming breath
Is a 2 syllable
Butterfly moan.
The name is not the thing
And her words are not her voice.
Pumping black mercury,
A melancholy crazed liquid,
My heart wanted reincarnation
As a futile first act,
A bee sting.
The dark alleys
And reeds know
That the blues get sung
Only after
The loudest screams.
Winter fell on my love,
Like so many leaves from a tree,
In a painful
And prolonged shiver
Then en masse
In a freeze.
She lingers
Like the sweet scent
Of evaporated tea
I barely sipped,
But the cup,
Too delicate right now,
I cannot bring myself
To clean.