Inconspicuous Remorse

I once held that arctic hands which send me to ineffable pain— I did not release that rigid grip, until the blood from its veins is trapped that causes my fingertips to whiten the remorse I vehemently relinquish in sigh as I know that even the simplest apology is inadequate. guilt tripping as they say—no, the remorse i felt was non sequitur with the idea of it I was in oblivion that led to pleasurable atonement with countless explainations; the link between the moon and the earth should not be separated due to unspoken debauchery. air slapped me while sleeping cordially in the corner— it reminds me of the splendiferous echo of our past; how angelic it is to be back in our cabin full of dandelions and roses— not remorse and guilt.