For the love of god, let go

Through a cracked cage
made from the crumbling edges of shattering trust
my lips found hers and wouldn't hear of goodbye

locked together
the way the wailing words of storms
stick a climbers hands
to wind tattered lines for the dearest love of a life
that looks less certain with each forsaken sight
of shredded sleight of palm

with all her softest dreams
brushing against my hardened blood
she couldn't pull me up
in the whispered calm between flailing winds
I couldn't push her beyond the place
where gaping mouths mourn the loss of sheepish smiles

but while we hung
in the company of weeping rocks and stony winds
solace drifted up from our clouded feet
with gauze for our sharpest tips
and told us climbing hand in hand
is the prettiest kind of dying