AN: This came to me all at once; I don't know where from. I usually don't write poetry so it's experimental. And it's sad. I'm sorry.

Desolate

Curled on her side she lies
Ankles crossed
Folded like a child.

Her hair a curtain that hides
The salty trails
Crusted to her cheeks.

Hip pressed against her shins he sits
Her warmth
Stark against the shards of ice embedded in his heart.

Helpless by her side he stares
Empty words
Useless when he needs them most.

"Nothing?" He asks
Voice gruff
Strangled by the tears he cannot cry.

Her silence the answer he fears
Her womb
Devoid of that most precious dream.

The grandfather clock ticks on
Tick tock
Ruthless in the gaping chasm of agony.

"Next time?" She whispers
Cold fingers
Knotted with his.

"Next time," he nods
His throat
Clogged with promises he cannot make.

Curled into his arms she sleeps
Legs tangled
Protected, calmed by his embrace.

At least he can give her this.