winter rabbit ii.

the fog, which had embraced the blushing cheeks of this green city so intimately, finally lifted. and in it's absence came the misty haze of tires on wet pavement. the dulled mess of a palette above dripped sloppily across the tired rooftops as they hid the city's numbed hands and personalities behind stucco walls and insulation.
i hid it under my breath..
wandering through the slick ally ways of your retinas stirred the familiar smell of newly fallen rain and dead leaves that emanated through the cracks of the uneven pavement. thick golden espresso beat against the side of a paper cup, like a bass drum, and sloshed out of the lid, joining the company of the sky's secretions beside my uneven stride. the scent lingered and fell, shattering my reality into shards of broken thoughts. i looked down and saw the ripples in my reflection distort the clouds behind me. my backdrop. my makeshift existence. i stepped through it, disturbing the mirrored image. the grey tones lifted from the earth only to descend back to the firm, unforgiving surface from which they came. i watched the world around me fray at the seems. i focused on the corroding shorelines of your temper. pounding, pulsating, quaking and quivering. shake, surge, swell and succumb. the shimmering cadence of regret lining our dulled dispositions. a blurred skyline reflected off your telescope eyes. you bit the edge of your brittle wind-stricken fingers before raising them to adjust the frame in which you see the world. not knowing what else to do, i picked at the blue rubber that gripped the metal frame of our park bench. tell me your troubles, and i'll whisper my worries. bitch, complain, vent and let loose. i look down when i can't think of anything clever to tell you; looking up simply to nod my head to the beat of your fingertips as they drum softly against the walls of my feeble attempts of taking care of you.
"since it's green, let the leaves steep for no more than four minutes, otherwise the taste becomes bitter." i don't tell you this because who am i to decide your preferred taste. and i no longer know what tickles your taste buds and chapped lips. and i no longer know how the textures of color bend and fold against the sharp edges of your swagger. and i no longer know the rhythm in your footsteps, and the beat of your weak heart. but then again, not much has changed.
my words hit your pale forehead and slither down your nose. a crooked smile and chuckle cut through my paranoia.
i am having a conversation with your time limit. and i look at you, looking down, picking at the blue rubber that hugs the frame of the bench with remorse.

you will respond with an ever so quirky remark, because you have subscribed to my mind. i'll let technology be my scapegoat. you will depend on me and i will let you down, and i will build it up just so we can watch it fall. we will have many days of second hand hell and speak of what we once held on to so dearly. and at the end of it all, we'll return to the lives we have built in each other's absence. and i'll watch as you walk back to the smell of motor oil and changes in diet. and you will sit at your screen, pick apart my scattered phrases and correct my flaws, for that is what we do.
yes it's about you.
no i don't think you'll misunderstand.
can you hear me over the scratching of tires on wet pavement?
i don't know.