palindromes...

as you were?

no more, no more
blue television light in the middle of the night
bare feet race like mice across the kitchen floor
no more safe as houses
no more weak sun pressing in from the garden
when you put a cup of coffee in my hand
no growing more accustomed to you than i already am
love drops out of school and comes back home
creeping quiet as mold growing over cellar stones
into silence heavy with not-ringing phones
and here comes winter,
and i will spend the night alone with John and George,
(and maybe Paul and Ringo, I suppose)
putting the blue and lavender summer clothes away
replacing them with woolen skirts of green and heavy autumn gray
night, lights out, and press my cheek into the pillow,
so glad for the comfort that's in it,
but still, grieving all those wasted kisses
that i once listed down the center of your spine,
along the black silk hairs below your navel.
no more navy eyes, looking into mine.