Love Poem

The muscles of our love atrophy
I watch the sentiment between us,
watch as is slowly, slowly, begins to rot
smelling of silence and distrust
oozing the pus of discontent,
your doubts, like maggots eating away
at its rotting flesh,
turning into flies, that buzz,
incessant
like my doubts.


I watch you struggle
with the clasp of your dress
in the mirror,
as I struggle with the knot of my tie.
Our eyes slide past each other,
and we leave, late, and arrive,
later.
Ignoring each the other,
the niggling presence,
I am the shadow in the corner of your eye,
you are the shuffling sound,
catching on my ears
as I focus elsewhere.

I don't know if these are two poems or one.