Grey

​

I don't remember how the world turned grey
or why we stopped pretending -- just the way
we twisted into text and through our phones
we sank. I sent you sticks, you sent me stones,
and neither of us watched the ricochet.

We drained her world of joyfulness and play
and as she fell beneath our sad melee
we argued about -- what? Libido? Loans?
I don't remember.

She heard it all but, mindful to obey,
she didn't interfere, just slipped away.
Please tell me how a penitent atones
for bringing forth the flesh and leaving bones?
Dear God, no words remain, but still I pray
I don't remember.