Analysis of Final separation

Our time has gone, its hands choked with telling.
Memories where we could not live without
touching, held together with its feeling
of skin tight with belonging; beyond doubt.

Now shattered with forgetfulness, whose lost,
remorseful sentience beggars what we had.
A world of sheer intensity that tossed
your dancing curls and drove my wanting mad.

Still turning every head, except for mine,
each brief absence bringing faint relief
and wonder at its callous anodyne;
not even a moment of passing grief.

All those years of tender care ground to dust,
remembered with vagueness and mystery,
like grains of sand slipping their grasping trust,
falling through faked half-truths and misery.

So does the impossible become born,
deformed in its moment of creation,
delivered with a knife, its life air-torn,
lungs screaming parting's last communion.