Capsized

Nothing's Gonna Change My World...

Words flow out like clouds of smoke,

    lamenting, lowing last good-byes.

          I still my tears and stroke her back,

    withholding my replies.

She says that I abandoned her

    so long before tonight;

          this house was just my home in name.

    I tell her that she’s right.

She curses whatever she did

    that made me want to go.

          I look away, as if to say

    some part of her should know.

Love you, I hear myself admit,

    her hand in my hand, curled,

          while some old Beatles’ song insists that

    Nothing’s gonna change my world.

She hiccups through cups of Merlot

    pooled in her capsized eyes;

          mascara-streaked and liquor-laden

    soft, cigaretted-sighs.

I look for shards of my reflection

    in her glassy, broken stare,

          kiss her above her penciled  brow,

    and brush away her hair.

Her eyes follow mine like glaciers

    with the trembling melt of ice;

          her hands, refusing to release

    their French-tip-gripping vice.

Then, gasping as if  to fill her lungs,

    she sinks back into her glass of wine.

          I pull away as soon as she,

    in mutually indifferent recline.

Nothing’s gonna change my world.