You

I woke to a shadow on the stairs -lightly treading
As dawn graciously poured itself across our room
And then came close to this fleeting shadow
Lifted her, carried her, in joy, through the dwelling
Setting her down by the table, for a meal

After which we tangled most innocently
On the bedroom floor. Fully clothed.
A thumb or finger across her forehead
Around her earlobe, was enough to rip my heart
Utterly to pieces - she does what she wants there

Have you ever?
Moving in the wide snow beside hospital bricks
She dangles a cigarette, almost tiny in dark wool
The words uncover a savage landscape, which only
Allows itself that because it is wrapped in
The bindings of humilty - everything is red, and open

On the couch, it is a matter of daring. Game-theoretic self-exposure
Which at the same moment yearns for the implosion
Of the game. And, oh, if that were to occur
I guarantee you one could perish not in decades, but
The very next day, fulfilled.

Nothing left to be done.