I press your spine against the desk and
break
you
apart.
I hear you crack.
Words spill
into empty air.
They pool at my feet.
Meaningless.
I rifle through your pages.

They quiver like autumn leaves.

I practically
beg
for them to crumble into dust
between my
fingertips
as I leave you.
Bare.
Empty.
Naked.
Between the covers.