until then

your face at the station
on the train
in the rain
is pushing my hastings
to refrain
from the pain.

jeunesse in your lip-lines
has fallen
still calling
your prints on my hip-lines
while balling--
my heart crawling

down the tracks you
have left
me bereft.
I wanted to do--
but it's theft
and you left.

Idioms are nothing when you speak into my cheeks
and I'll love you until the scent of your breath has poured into my sheets.
Heart beats like drummers on my tongues against the sound of clouds
raining, shining all your promises until the syllabic youth is allowed.