You are my split-apart. A sliver of me that twinks
in the chill dark
of your absinthe, absent.
A corrosive mender
of fences
That I drink
with.
and drink
hard

A jab
and a flick
of a kiss
that I long
for.

A short
court and spark
that i'm always up
for.
So sorry 'bout the mess
but the next thing
to conquer
is shame
without naming
the game
we wake up
for

god knows nothing
but sharp sticks
and halos

but i know

you love

me.