picture this:
clear glass rectangle table.
i am sitting
on one side, away from you

our feet touch
and i recoil.
you tell me again that you love me and i think
how drunk i was
how you still carried me home
even after all the others
even after i treated you like
less than nothing.

picture this:
in two years,
clear glass rectangle table.
you are on one side, away from me
i am halfway across the city
in a taxicab with your best mate

the phone is in front of you on the table
and you look at it
knowing i will not call until morning
knowing danger is the compass i use
to find you

in two years,
clear glass rectangle table.
bank card, a tightly rolled bill
lines like scratches and a glass filled with poison.

in the present, you tell me
people learn from their mistakes
and one can't keep helping people
but i tell you
the holes that we dig for ourselves
are far too deep.