evolution is the culprit for many setbacks
one being how much i crave him
the other being how many carcasses caress his floor
counterfeit intimacy plagues pests plenty
love becomes more of a noun than a feeling
his hands on my curves
palms on my shoulders
grip on my neck
fingers trace an apology down my backbone
before i can resist repulsive recollections
death recoils at the base of my spine
tolerance becomes our safe word
there was a hesitation in the love of turning away from him
though i am incapable of comprehending spaces he left
i stop opening doors for others when i start locking my own
paying back the universe with
our severed ties
their open arms
my slow progression
returns with a participation award for living
as if existing without him is an accomplishment
before learning to live for myself ever could be