i stand under the cold unrelenting spray and wish for my love to be washed away – from my skin, my lips, my flesh, my fingertips – straight down the drain and into the ocean, where all the what-if's and what-could've-been's in the world swim and swirl aimlessly as they wait to be embraced by the sky, suspended and prepared to rain down and drench the next unfortunate romantic.

"do you still talk?"
no. no, we don't.
how do we go from talking about
the color of (our) apartment walls
breakfast in (our) bed
and names for (our) mutts

(how did you go from
loving me
"loving" me
to nothing at all?)

no, we don't talk
unless one of us is
drunk
or angry
or sorry

(and it's usually me
it's always me
who loves too much
gives too much
it's always me
who's left behind)

i run in circles
around and around
sighing and waiting
for my soul to be found
a new day arrives
an orange slice in the sky
but still i lie
an empty vessel, a blank line
no end in sight
- 07.19.16