For Arthur

Can I come to you
when you won't?
Would you touch me
if I were
a fire, red, dynamite,
Or a fish that bites?
You walk in,
forgetting what the mirror
just told you this morning,
that today eyes are on you,
like ever was each time
you sliced through the crowd
and parted it at your
clueless control.
What am I supposed to be
seeing?
My ruin,
your glory,
or our palpable life
together?
Are those the things I rely on?
That now you can flick
your fingers, make a snap,
pull me to the ground.
And I am the same
as before,
letting my shoulders
fall,
at the mere
thunder of your soles.
Let me then listen
to the beat of your steps,
because I know
that's the only sound
I can trust to preserve
my failing sanity.