Sophophobia

The ache of loosing you doesn't hit me until it's eight thirty And I am under hot water, washing off grime which I Accumulated in your presence. This time there was an empty seat and as always It wasn't filled by her, left empty, and us in comfort. You haven't been told except in everything I do, And the words which would inform you will never pass my lips To echo in the silence of our sanctuary. This is my safe place, though hers first, and I will not Blaspheme here by letting out this fear of her. We wound circles through the dark and followed where lead, But in the end even warm hands cannot hold me. I can't do this, so I break