Electrocution

The grip went slack and then
it plunged in a turbid pool of
colorless, no one can tell
what I lack. Except I,
who can still savor the
mumble of unsaid words
slide over me, sluggish
as the caress of your calculated
careless gaze. You may be
grey in my absence
but that flick of wrist
tells me, I must
just as warily
empty my life of you. But before
the bubble of tar mist can
burst, in my protective puckered hand sinks
our charged aftermath in a
capsized glass balloon.