the desire for all new edges
shape us--
the places we left
are just fine without us,
they don't need our words or time.
all harsh breath clawing out, whoosh
sharp and crisp the sound together
entwined, mesh of
lips, neck, throat,
clenching the sheets that wrinkles haphazardly,
screaming, "oh, god."
the pieces fitting so well
we'll never move again.