fleeting
the sound of my breath on the inner parts of your mind,
the back of your neck
the bruises of your ankles
the depth of your emotion
flat roofs, vacant hospitals, the wilting petals
of the mourner, Tuesday morning.
you awake,
screaming someone else's name
dismal ache, the gap for a heart
that you just had to fill

something snapped. i couldn't tell
whether it was my psyche or my conscious, my mouth or my
throat, my heart or my head, where is my home?
something between the degree of you and the oil i drop under my tongue to love myself
something between screaming at the ceiling for answers and waiting
for you like a child at a bus stop, the kitten in the window, the things we said we wouldn't let drop until
they did
they broke, it all went
to hell, sifting through old cut up love i found the
you's and the but's and the and's and the if's and
the birthday card you gave me on my fifteenth birthday,
the scribbled letters, the paraphernalia of the love i strangled to death
with my own bare hands and the
regretting of it a year later.