Her Time

The clock stopped
at 12.17
the time when she
invited me
to see her vision
of scenes that she
wanted me
to be painted on
but not in.

But I wasn't
OK with that
and in that man way
that's strong but says
hold on
I think you're wrong
lets hug some
I stood tall
and then didn't
and I begged.

But she was strong
ger than me
and she knew
where she
wanted to be
and that flesh muddle
it was weak
a pretend cuddle
no relation
of how were we
week after week
before our love
curdled and
at least for her
the weakening began

And is that what I am?
A sour taste man?
Spat out?
To be spat out
never swallowed
never ingested and
made to be the food
that feeds the body
of the one
that if she so wanted
could have eaten 
all of me?

And so why bother
with the thought
that one day
the one days past
could once again
be one day?
As it cannot.
And the cannot
is the pain
no matter what
we see today
and each day
day on day
for lovers
for ex lovers
throw away.