“Certain breeds of chicken exhibit a behavior known as brooding.
When no Rooster is present they will diligently incubate eggs incapable of hatching,
forgoing food and water
despite the impossibility of newborn chicks.”

It seemed like you had been waiting for quite some time
like collapsed steam on cold coffee surface.

I watched you there
torn apart in the light
shadow fragments packing your edges
away like foreclosed tenants with an immaculately well maintained yard.

By turns violent and mundane,
open mouth smelling of monsoons
and hot morning skin. On the pillowcase
your fingertips bloomed like incandescent daffodils.

Nights posing as days stray forth
and return, with a casual politeness commonly reserved
for political debate spectatorship
and cocktail mixers.

Not quite grim.
Not fully present.
Standing alone in a gleaming room
begging for a sliver of crawling blackness
to tempt the curve of your hip back into my hand.

If there was time left,
I could have figured it out.

“I understand that you are sad and I am sorry.
I told you this would happen. I am
not having this conversation right now,
so I am sorry for that too.”