You told me you fell off.
You dug your head into my shoulder,
mouth in your elbow.
It was hiding the cough.
You’ve been lying to your lover
but your lover couldn’t care,
then you trudged through wet cement
because you knew you’d find me here.
Your fingertips started to
re-arrrange
the way you left the bookshelf
in my brain.
Well, I told you that I fell off
thirty miles down the river,
started sleeping in a loft.
The hypnic jerks from
nervous caffeine,
and all your cigarette dreams
drift and jitter in a business park.
Split and separate your seams.