you came, dragging cardboard shackles in your wake and fell upon my floor like the final messiah.
surrounded by these walls that I built for you, and the props that I live by; a porcelain cat ticking time on his paws, and a blue fish swimming laps,
you fold into origami birds and exhale debris into the moonlight, sighing a breath of defeat.
i cannot decipher it. i remember how you looked when you were mine, how you spoke when you belonged here.
you are strange to me now. i cannot pinpoint your watercolor edges nor iron out the fissures where your smile hides.
i want to take you in my arms and place you in my bed. i want to play chopin from memory for you and carve figures out of wind, carry you across the threshold on gilded fingertips;
but you are no longer mine to form, and i do not follow.