The Golden Mean

The Darkroom

im WK

If I am the one who is said to be
alive, and you the other; how come it's me
who ends up trailing along behind

as you stride ahead, humming
to yourself, crossing from shade to shadow?
Every morning I wake

longing for you to long for me again;
to dawdle, to loiter, and then - to hell
with the cost, I say - look back.