Squeaky Magic

Would this have ended differently

if we were not constantly

stepping all over each other?

In each other’s space

If we both were happy still

living in our own bodies?

The fistful of time taking over 

and punching might

have had less of an impact?

If cats

didn’t constantly

knock shit all over the place?

If stress didn’t fill up

the buckets left sitting all over

to catch the drips

from the constantly 

leaking ceilings

that now are our lives?

Wind laughing

through the cracks in our Foundations

and if we are honest

they weren’t all that strong in the first fucking place

Now looking at the boxes

containing the clutter

that once seemed so direly

needed and trying to summon the old spark

but somewhere along the road

that squeaky magic fell, died.

I miss it.

More than I’ll ever miss you.