Love Poem

Not the first hit.
The feeling that they could
Swallow the world in an instant.
Not the moment they fell in love
With a pinch of pale powder
And a plastic straw.

Not the Mondrian of adjacent white lines,
And credit cards littered on clean surfaces
Of the newly furnished apartment--
Not the late nights spent counting
The circles on the ceiling
Made from candles
Lighting an achromatic tomb.

Not the dizzy swirling of lights
Against the white halls of Sharp Memorial
Or the way she didn't touch him
For the fourteen long seconds
His heart gave up trying.

Not the snapshot of skeletons in a still room
Nor a conversation dragged on too long--
A marriage wilting like dandelions in snow.

But the lingering consequence--
The mistake in the corner of the room,
Writing, swaddled, cold turkey in the cradle.