even this separation
I feel
becoming a dance
as you process the events of Sunday,
I slowly let you go
and tell you it's okay to leave
because I'll survive
(Probably
)
and you have never promised me
anything.

and even the separation feels
familiar
Like you are kidding and might return
home for dinner.
that you might return home
and welcome me into your arms
maybe with no hesitation
behind your eyes or
guilt ruminating beneath your bone
structure

And I don't want to break down
your structure,
it is not my desire to see
pieces of you on my bedroom floor
or a shattered heart
beneath your ribcage

and I never want to enter a realm
where I can hurt you
but you've already hurt me
every Sunday and every time
you feel unworthy and
every time you don't see the disparity
between what you say
is my truth and what you can't
see as your own.

even the separation between
these figures
seems close
to being intricate and a
twisted
echo
of who we are and who we might be
together