measuring love+loss

the thing about me is that i don't know
when to stop.
case in point:
i am watching "titanic"
and my heart is swollen into my stomach,
this crushing ache of loss that i've never experienced,
loss and debilitating love
that i haven't yet touched.
and when it comes down to it, i will take the love
and leave the loss
because my heart is unsteady
and my brain works too fast
to keep up with my mouth
and everything i am is sometimes
equal to a mirror stuffed with disaster.
and i could turn the tv off
or just change the fucking channel
but, no. i'm sitting here
with tear-stained cheeks-- my own sense of loss
chafing the cinematic overture of disaster.

my soul, it needed to purge.

the boat split in half
and my heart salts its fissures.
she was so tired on the phone earlier- tired from life,
from the weekend, of me (i've no doubt).
she said she didn't want to "sit at home and stew"
but she couldn't tell me what she was stewing over.
and i think it is probably me/us
because we are sickened by the pull of gravity,
just like these black and white moon-beamed bodies
are falling to an ice-capped death--
and there is nothing to hold onto.

if her hand was here
i would take it into mine.
but it's nearly 400 miles away; my hands just finished
working on my grad work for the week,
and hers are resting at a concert.
resting/fidgeting because she cannot
be still.

jack doesn't survive but i
always do.