on the shelf there’s a framed photo.

a photo of you.
one print, plucked from your polaroid
post picture,
post posing.

processing
i couldn’t have possibly
taken it myself.

practically then, i’m replaying a feeling long since perished. purposefully.

kinda sad to be planning out pity parties
periodically.

maybe i’ll write the patent on recovering from players like you.
get a legal practitioner in Intellectual Property and beg for peace.

they’ll tell me all about limited liability.

a man sits in the corner
in his hands; the small bits. the aches.

I couldn’t have loved you once
in a voice holding
a feeling stronger than regret.

on shoulders not broad enough
a shadow, heavier than memory.

the fire at the corners of my eyes -
- smoke billowing -
- make blinking that much harder -
- once in awhile ash collects in an iris -
- a promise to burn things -
- blind.

…………something about an end. the scope of things together. in the spiral you’re still connected to the beginning. I’m still here just falling. rewrapping the ugliness of hurt. kissing my knuckles. pushing against gravity. elbows and toes buried. in my latest growth-spite. the line drawn under  unconnected. a context of embarrassment. remember the rule about tying loose ends. speak into my night light. scratch out a chance.  take refuge by the windowsill. the downpour whispered its precedence. he’s out there. drowning standing up. our bedroom. the thunder failing to tick over. lightning like a flinch. hands in hands in gaps. i wonder if the rain knows it might not end. wonder if i might not too……………….

and at the closing
he promises and promises
the last scene is just
around another corner.

and the pile of clothes in the corner is
just a
pile of clothes
but i know things aren’t right.

that the burning in my mouth
the locking of bones and sinew
once a month between us
isn’t satiating.

the thing inside of me pulsing.

i’m a neck viewer
using his curls as curtains.
compromise
watching things burst from other things.

remember
monsters break apart their hosts in escape.

compulsion
emerges from the core because
of the nature of change.

back in the moment:
the screen darker than dark.
my need, this body horror
spills out of me.

curated
left myself hanging on the gallery of promises.
eyes and arms outstretched,
ache and need
follow you around the room.
do a double take,
take my few remaining moments
while you ponder
if you could have done something similar, leaving loss under floodlights
to tell a feeling, to rot under public protection.