You shot me with those frozen bullet eyes
which at first ice-berged the center of my soul

but I didn't die.

can't be killed by a dead man.

The swipe of that ice crystal hand
 was dismissively lodged

in my breathing space

and I cried;

but real tears don't fall for the already deceased,

feeling wise.

I stood full on
in Massive Regret

shrounded in its Cape of Sorrows

yet

persevered on to day next

piling high

frozen layers

which I could and would melt

and yet

you now come back

hands now greased

with your own blood and wounds

to say

I was the only one who'd understand

how a dead man feels.
 

I took your face in my hands

ignoring the bitter sweet irony taste

whispering yet into your crinkled ears

that you'd been gone just long enough
 

for there to be no feeling left
for cruel lovers

who first cut flesh
before leaving;

that part of me now gone

I said

and now

not available 

to you

or I
or for Johnny come lately life lines.

 "You can't"

I said
 "poison your water
 

and still expect to drink."