At night the birds still sing

Just for fun....M

At Night They Still Sing

Mae was fragile
I saw it in her eyes most nights
while we capped fresh bottles of wine
pointed them at each other like guns
talked
smoked
listened to the cunts we had
rent books with video games
on a dented sofa  
but never us
always her kitchen's cold square table  
collecting every tear

I was never sure if it was the wine
or the arseholes we were shackled to
but something soothed
in the way her red hair swept softly
over lines on her gentle face

How when she laughed  
the fire in her eyes burned pain  
across a devastated universe
Back-to-back on an unswept floor
glasses empty as each other
the clock striking one
straight through my chest
as the balloon of her lungs
rose and fell against shadow

How I craved that kind of comfort
stripping me to the bone
listening like it mattered
loving like it meant sense
her ribs a grateful anchor  
in a volatile sea
and sometimes in the dark
her black waves still find me

(A tad too much Buk, maybe?)

Hi Abra  
 
I always like your formats, which is one of my weaker points I think.  
 
I’ve implemented some suggestions, and disregarded others that I don’t feel are personal to my memory of the situation.  
 
I laughed when you said about too much Buk… yeah… can be a two-a-penny sometimes.  
 
Love you took some time out of your day on this. Decent of you.  
 
-M

This was magnificent
Your use of descriptive language & metaphor
was exquisite
Dam.