"But even when the window's clean I still can't see for the fact that when it's clean it's so clear I can't tell what I'm looking through"

I sometimes wonder what the windshield
of our lives would look like
if we hadn't hit defrost

What if we kept it frozen like
a polaroid icicle,
captured in the pose of love?

...maybe moved to the mountains
as you once had mentioned
and kept me guessing
when it would happen

Was I always wishing or
was it ever a holy love
as I had seen it?

My guess is yes because
one must experience something
to feel the phantom limb of it -
the ache of its absence

You're the only memory that makes
me crumble into a pile
of vulnerability

I need to know permanence
on your end
before I can...

finish that sentence.