this is what he's holding out for

because you're you,
she said standing there, shivering in the cold
arms around him.
such a mess, such a mess
everything they spoke of, discussed,
hashed out, hammered out
thrown away.
because you're you, i can't help it she says.
why can't she?
he walks the other way, painfully, slowly,
still believing, yet still walking.
they wake in the morning, cold air leaking
through the window sills, chilling a foot,
a shoulder left uncovered by the blankets
one eye, then the other opened, looking back at him.
this is what he is holding out for,
the forever in this.
laughing, they stroke each others skin,
soft, pale from winters darknesss.
her back, alabaster, with golden brown flecks , worthy
of cathedrals, beautiful,
they talk about nothing, plans for the day, going
to the ocean, laying wrapped round each other
for fear of falling into the abyss.
his face burried in her shoulder,
hands clutching in the warmth of her legs,
the smell of skin and sleep.
the day begs to begin, yet they fight the pullings
of friends, and parties to attend.
standing, backed into him, looking back for a kiss.
and then on their seperate ways.