Yesterday creeps silently into the room and slips beneath the covers, bringing the scent of rosemary. My head turns as her fingers entwine the grey of my chest. Her hand drifts down to my belly, circling the years. Counting the conditions that have pertained since our last meeting. Her silhouette profiled in the light of night, the substance of her hip a reminder of all was lost that January when choice and chance made a man of the boy and a fool of the man.
We are older now, who once sat in the midnight grove dreaming of demons and lusting after angels. Who watched the morning break from the high places and drank of life in the low places. We are working our way to death who once danced.
We have sold our souls to the bondsmen who once pledged them to the hollow men. We have spawned life that is not ours, bound to the otherness of all the others. We have paid the bloodprice of the mundane and smiled our way through the terror of the everyday.
She hugs me and melts away.
I allow myself a moment’s remorse as the alarm rouses me to effort.