The beat

It never ends, does it?

That is the residue of love
that we want to hold so close,
yet throw it away.

We exist together in the pulsing
beat of each other,
and when one beat ends
the other falters and
the syncrony dies.

That is grief,
the faltering.

That is loss,
the beat that ends.

No machine can correct
this arrhythmia;
nothing but time,
and maybe not even that.