Crack

There is a crack
in the surface of our love,
now showing a reflection
rent down the middle.
Two broken people
pulled in opposite directions,
and I do not know how
to fix this sorry portrait of us.

I cannot make the picture whole,
the way it was when we bought it.

I am unable to recreate
the state I want to see in you.

You
remain apart from
me,
framed in porcelain on the wall
in a broken picture frame.
That, or you are undressing
silent in the corner,
cold back towards me
as it is in the bed
the silence grasping
for better things once said.

Chichester, March 2017

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