the things you said
your lines were wrinkles
as an unmade bed. I felt *****
and unclean as unwashed sheets
and I slept in them as a mother hen
laying on her eggs
till they cracked
and the yolks ran out
in a yellow river

When I went over
the way we were
I was drained as the sand
in an hourglass. The more I poured
myself into you the less of me
I spilled over you as sweet perfume
now I'm an empty bottle
sitting on the dresser
covered in the dust of us

When I went over
everything I lost
you were debris blowing
in the wind
catching in my eye
making me blind
a cyclone spinning
till I crashed
and splintered
you can hang your hat
on my jagged splinters